A Pirate and a Hero
by Vayluh Arwen
Summary: Fable 2. Sequel to Memories. Sparrow's fought her way out of the Spire but a Hero's work is never done, and she knows she'll be thrown straight back into it again. The search for the third Hero has got to get underway. Fable 2 c Lionhead Studios.
1. Go

**Go**

"_Get into the Cullis Gate_!"

"Not without you!" The young Hero ducked, dodged, slicing out with her sword, her anger for the fight matched only by her concern for her friends.

Three Spire Guards were smashed down to the floor as a huge war hammer slashed out near her head, "Just _do_ it! We'll be right behind you! _GO_!"

"I've _told_ you, _no_!" A swift drawing of her pistol, three shots in quick succession, all hitting their marks, another two down.

The sorcerer span on his heel, pulling up a shield of Will just in time to stop a Spire Being's magic, panting heavily with the strain, "Hero, _go_! We will buy you time!"

"I am _not leaving without you_!"

The Spire Shard shot out a bolt of lightning and she just missed it, her back colliding painfully with the wall, almost losing balance, a sword coming from nowhere, barely parried.

The warrior gave a scream of frustration, grabbing her by the collar and throwing her towards the gate, "Jaina, you stupid slag, _go_, _NOW_!"

The Hero stumbled into the blue, shimmering light, having time just to spin back on her heel towards them before the fight, Garth's tower and Brightwood disappeared from around her.

Blade's forehead hit stone. She didn't try to move, her breathing harsh and tight, racking through her whole body. The low hum of the Cullis Gate changed around her, and the orbs turned red. Something was wrong. There was a huge burst of energy, and the Hero's world vanished in a bright white light.

* * *

"Well what have we got here?"

Eyes open. Awake. Damp, rotten wood beneath her cheek. A chill that moved through to the bones, something no amount of layers could lessen.

"Is it alive?" the voice sounded harsh, broken, already dead. "Yeah, there we go, it's alive, yes?"

Up. Right the world again. Pulling on cold, rusty bars, pulling herself to her feet. The world swam in and out of focus. She leant down, bracing her battered head on the metal, closing her eyes again, letting her head calm.

A wheezing laugh coughed through the quiet, "Gave ya head quite a bang, missy. Wanderin' round the middle of Wraithmarsh. What, you got yerself a death wish? Eh? The Hollow Men coulda got ya."

She shook her head, dazedly, and then shivered. The cold went straight through her.

The voice laughed again, "Cold? Eh? Old Gregg's used to it. The fog. Guess you're not."

"Hannah." She managed, her voice weak, "Hannah, Garth."

"Hannah? What you talkin' bout, missy?"

Forcefully, she shook away the last of the grogginess, looking up. She frowned, and then looked around her, sharply. She was standing in an old cage wagon, like ones used for animals. Or slaves.

Blade looked at the man in front of her, on the other side of the bars. He was old, decrepit, carrying a lit torch in one hand, his teeth brown and yellow and his cheeks sunken. His silver hair hung lankly around his shoulders. His flesh hung off brittle bones. Already dead.

She managed to force her eyes off him. She glanced around her. Apart from the obvious, once other person was missing. She moved her eyes back onto the walking corpse, slowly, saying nothing. She didn't need to ask him what was going on. It was pretty obvious.

'Old Gregg' looked at her for a moment. He'd seen her glance around the cage, looking for someone. He nodded, quickly, too many times, "Yeah, y'all... ya'll had a _dog_ with ya there, like." He gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his head, "It ran off into the fog." He gave a cackle of a laugh, rattled by disused vocal chords, "The _banshees'll_ have it by now. Aye, you've seen the last of _that_ mongrel, I can tell ya!"

She looked at him straight, still not saying a word. Her heart pumped painfully in her chest.

He frowned a little, "Quiet one, aren't ya? Can you speak? Can you understand me? Yes, no? Yes? Yes, you can, can't you? Can it speak?"

Yes, 'it' could. Whether she _would_ was a different matter.

Gregg shook his head, "You... you from _Bloodstone_, eh? No... no... you aint got the stink of it about ya. Too pretty. Too easy to take."

She raised an eyebrow, but kept her silence.

He shook his head again, "Oh, 'tis a wicked place. Would be burnt to the ground if there was any justice."

A wicked place... She'd heard the same herself, actually. Mainly from _Garth_. When he'd suggested that she change her clothing, told her that maybe a corset, shorts and thigh high boots were not quite appropriate in a place where you couldn't go three steps without being hit up or punched down. Her new black-and-white highwayman's outfit had the Garth seal of vague approval.

The twisted man was still watching her. He seemed almost unsure. "So... what do I do about _you_? Eh, missy?" he paused, thinking about it, and then his face seemed to brighten, "Reckon I'll burn _you_ as _well_!"

Her heart missed a beat. Her eyes flew to the torch in his hand, and then back to his face. She took a few urgent steps back, opposing his movements. Gregg gave a small, hollow smile.

Then he hesitated. He turned. The fog had moved in on them, more. He seemed to panic. He took the torch in both hands and started waving it, trying to keep the fog at bay. Blade frowned, watching his frantic movements, uneasily. He took off, running into the fog, still waving his flame, until he was completely out of sight.

He didn't come back.

Blade shook her head, and turned to the metal bars. They were thick, strong, despite the rust from disuse. She gave the cage door a fierce yank, but all it did was rattle. She snarled and drew her blade, lowering it to the lock. Then she snapped her head back up. Screaming. There was _screaming_. And, no doubt about it, it was 'Old Gregg'. _Screaming_. And then, a _shriek_, a horrific, high-pitched _shriek_, piercing through the air and her head, making her wince and allow the weapon to fall to the floor in favour of covering her ears, recoiling.

The sound faded, leaving the needles of fear deep in her stomach. Blade lowered shaking hands, looking out into the fog for some sign of what had made that inhuman scream. She saw nothing. And then, movement. Something low, dark, down at feet level. Her heart missed more than a beat and she flinched back against the wall, deftly drawing her crossbow, taking aim.

Her finger was almost too far gone on the trigger when she recognised the furry monster. She knelt down quickly, whispering her beloved Boy's name, reaching out through the bars to pet him, her voice lowered even though there was nothing in sight. He had something in his mouth, and she frowned, working it out. It was a metal loop, accompanied by twelve metal keys.

Blade looked at him, gave him one last ferocious pat, and then turned to the door, flicking out the keys, starting with the biggest. She was getting the hell out of here.

* * *

A few days later, Blade reached the top of a short hill and leant heavily on a nearby fence. She doubled over, giving herself a second. She was covered in blood and dirt, smelling of smoke from fireballs and Hollow Men's dry, dusty bones, her face splattered with mud. Boy collapsed by her side, whimpering pathetically, his usually immaculate fur matted and dirty, still damp from the treks through swamps.

Blade managed to drag herself to her feet. The sun shone high in the west, and she winced, raising a hand to her eyes. But, despite the glare, after the eerie darkness and chill of Wraithmarsh, the feel of sunlight was like water in the desert. She looked over the town, the spires and houses tiny below her, and slowed her breathing. She glanced over her shoulder towards the path they had taken, through the cemetery, through the many tombs. She couldn't prevent a shiver. She licked her lips, and then shook her head, turning away, back to the sun. She tapped her thigh and Boy, oddly but quite understandably, was hesitant in getting to his feet. When, however, he saw that they were heading away from the ghastly place, he lightened up, bounding ahead of her, turning back to see if she was following.

Blade took in a long, deep breath. Then she continued down the path to Bloodstone.

* * *


	2. A Whore’s Business

**A Whore's Business**

Boy chased his tail, and then gave a first-warning yap at a bandit too close to his master. Blade put a hand on his head to still him, and then looked back at the man in front of her, "Don't worry 'bout him. More bark than bite."

"Mmhmm, sure. What d'you want."

"I'm looking for Reaver."

He nodded, casually, "Lotta folks are. He's a popular guy." His eyes skimmed over her, quickly, "Especially with the gals."

"Do you know where he lives?"

He shrugged, "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What's it worth."

She paused, looking at him, and then shook her head, "Twenty gold. Enough for your next _hit_, I'm sure." Her voice was perfect - casual, sharp, coolly indifferent.

But he shook his head, "Gold is all well and good, but it aint the _only_ currency around here. What _I_ was thinking was a bit more..." the eyes travelled down again, "..._personal_."

She actually laughed. She hadn't meant to, it was a gut reaction, and she immediately stopped herself, "Sorry, how impolite of me." She shook her head, "Nah. I don't think so."

"Suit yerself. No Reaver, then."

"Oh, I'm sure my efforts aren't completely spent." She replied, shaking her head again, "I mean, asking the first person I came to took a lot of brainpower, but I'm sure, given time, I can think of something else."

He bristled at her sarcasm, "Keep your attitude to your_self_, darlin', you aint _that_ hot."

"I'm sure I'm not. Now, come on, Boy, let's get moving."

She tapped her leg, and Boy, who had been glowering at the bandit, hackles raised, reluctantly returned to her side. She took once last glance at the man, and then turned, smiling, and started once again down the long sandy hill.

* * *

Next stop: first pub she came across. Blade glanced at the swinging sign, ignoring the stares of the men and women who hung around the place. The Leper's Arms.

As she walked closer the door burst open and a patron whose face was an interesting shade of green pushed past her and ran the short distance to the pier, falling to their knees and retching over the side into the river. Blade raised an eyebrow. How... charming. Having been brought up by gypsies this sort of display was hardly unknown to her, but, at midday, that was somewhat pushing it.

She turned away from the coughing drunk, back to the door. She had walked a few paces before a hand from an adjacent alleyway caught hold of her arm.

"Fancy a quick trip to paradise?"

She glanced at the whore in front of her, raising an eyebrow, a little surprised. The girl was young, her dirty blonde hair tied up on her head, her pale face hideously painted with a thick layer of dark makeup. Blade glanced down and then instantly wished she hadn't. The girl's dress wasn't exactly made for those with an imagination.

She shook her head again, "How old are you."

The whore paused, thinking quickly, "Twenty-one."

"No you're not. You're fifteen, if a day."

She blushed, hotly, "Does it matter?"

"Yes. Yes it matters. You're young enough to be my _daughter_, and you're out doing _this_?" the girl just shook her head, and Blade gave a low, weary sigh, "Go home, kid. Do something with your life. Before it's too late to."

She hesitated, and then nodded, slowly, and turned, moving away quickly. Blade knew she would just move away from the bar, pick another place to pull tricks. But there was nothing she could do about that.

She turned back to the Arms, gathering her willpower. She paused for a moment longer, and then shook her head, and pushed open the door.

* * *

Blade looked around her. The bar was an absolute cliché, crowded, dark, dank, blood and wine staining the walls. Men and woman all in various states of disarray sat and lounged at the bar, some sitting at tables, a dozen or so empty glasses cluttering the space in front of them, a woman in a bra and an open cropped jacket serving them yet more foul smelling alcohol.

She clocked everything in the crowded inn, easily, not stopping to catch the eyes of the few that had noticed her and turned round to see just what the hell she was doing there. She walked across the filthy floor to the bar, casually, and sat down on the first stool she saw, next to a man in something close to a bandit outfit. The bartender immediately spotted her, his type finding it easy to pick out fresh blood, and she glanced at him, holding up a finger, "Sandgoose. Neat." Then she looked at the guy beside her, calculatingly, whose eyes were fixed on her. She glanced up again, "Make it two."

The bartender didn't even raise an eyebrow; he was probably used to what he thought he was seeing in front of him. He placed in front of them two small glasses of Sandgoose rum and grunted the price. Blade didn't catch it, but she counted out four gold and slid it across the grimy table. In a bar like this it wouldn't be lacking, and she knew he sure as hell wouldn't complain if she was over.

She paused, one gloved hand on the side of the bar, taking some time before even acknowledging the eyes that still held her. She picked up her drink and downed it, easily. Then she placed the glass back on the table and moved her gaze onto the guy on the stool beside her. The man turned on his seat, facing her properly. His eyes made one full sweep of her body, and then moved back up to her face.

The bandit looked her over again, chewing on something black in his mouth, his true nature clear as his reprobate eyes showed appreciation at both her tight black shirt and the golden repeater crossbow slung over her shoulder. He shook his head, "What you afta, darlin'." He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Blade didn't react to his wandering eyes, or his question. Her highwayman's coat was covered in dirt and blood, both hers and otherwise, her sparkling blade was strapped in a shoulder holster within easy reach, and her face showed no effect whatsoever to the very alcoholic beverage she had just so deftly knocked back.

She held him there for a moment, and then looked down, counting out another small mound of gold in her hand, shaping it neatly into one tower. She looked at him again, capturing his eyes, and then, slowly, placed the coins on the bar in front of them, "Reaver. If you please."

* * *

Looking up at Bloodstone Mansion, Blade was moderately surprised that she hadn't considered this building sooner. It was around six storeys high, thick wood and bricks with long, thin windows. The grounds behind it went on for some time, and the front of the house had a huge, elaborate flower bed, the path around it trim and neat. She should have guessed this would be where the _Pirate King_ lived.

Neatly, she tapped her way up the short flight of steps to the front door, hesitated, and then knocked. The door swung open almost immediately, taking her back a little. The man was in his forties maybe, with a shaven head, wearing the same bandit-esq garb the men at the Arms were wearing.

She hesitated, looking at him, "Oh... Hello."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hello." He replied, looking at her strangely, like he thought she was a little odd. His accent was strange, something she had never heard before, very different from the Bloodstone drawl she was slowly getting used to.

She hesitated again, looking him over, confused, and then shook her head, "You're not...?"

He gave a small smirk, knowing exactly what she meant, "No."

"Oh. Alright."

"What do you want."

"I... I'm here to see Reaver."

He raised the brow again, "Yes…?" he asked at length, "That is... _obvious_, I would say, seeing as you're on his doorstep. What do you _want_."

Blade looked at him, steadily regaining her composure. She shook her head, "Is that any of your business?" she asked him, easily.

"Well, _yes_, actually. I'm Norman."

"A pleasure. I'm Blade."

"Blade?" his eyes flickered over her, taking in her highwayman's jacket and her weapons, and, even more intensely, her Will lines, "Never heard of you."

"Well. Tales of my exploits probably haven't travelled this far over the river." Her tone was sarcastic - she more than often got very irritated with her fame, and, on occasions, detested people asking about her many _heroic acts_.

The man clocked the bitterness in the words, and nodded, slowly, "I work for Reaver. What do you want with him."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. He'll probably shoot you the second you set foot in the door _any_way."

She looked at him, "Shoot me? Why would he _shoot_ me?"

"Why _wouldn't_ he shoot you?" he saw her raised eyebrow, and shook his head, returning to her question: "Maybe you'll say the wrong thing. Maybe he'll tire of you. Maybe you're seeking to kill him and he'll get there first. Or maybe he'll just do it for the hell of it. He does that."

Blade looked at him, stuck between disbelief, anger and grim resignation. And, also, a spark of frustration. She had come to this godforsaken hellhole expecting to find a Hero who happened to be a pirate. What she had found was a pirate who happened to be a Hero. And she hadn't even _met_ the man yet.

"He's a pirate." She murmured, slowly.

He shot her a smile, "That's right, princess. He's a pirate. And what would a thing like you want with a pirate."

She gave a sigh, shaking her head, "I'm here to... to discuss a... mutually beneficial arrangement. I'm here on business."

He looked her over, "You're a whore? I should have guessed."

Blade raised an eyebrow, and then detected the slightest sense of humour in his words, and gave a small smile, "No. Sorry. Not... _that_ sort of business. I'm a Hero."

"Is that right, princess. Well. However... _heroic_ you might be, I'm afraid you're out of luck. He's not in."

"Not in?"

"Not in." He confirmed, simply.

She paused, "Then where _is_ he."

Norman shrugged, "I don't know, I'm afraid. His ship's still docked, so he's still in Bloodstone. Take a look yourself."

She shook her head, stuck between frustration and amusement, "Bloodstone is a big town, sir. Where do you suggest I try?"

He shrugged again, "Try all the bars."

"And failing that?"

He smirked, "Try all the _brothels_."

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"You heard me, princess. Try the brothels. Lord Reaver's quite fond of one down Bloodstone Hill, just down the road, you could try there."

"_Lord_ Reaver?" She repeated, sceptically. The man just raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head, "You're saying that _Reaver_, _Pirate King_, is only ever _here_, in a _bar_, or in a... _brothel_?"

He smiled again, "Nope. He sometimes goes out to sea, too. He is a _pirate_, after all."

A _pirate_... Blade shook her head, distastefully. She'd never met a pirate she'd liked.

She gave a weary sigh, shaking her head again, "Brothels aren't exactly my speciality. _Bars_ I can do. He's not in The Leper's Arms, I was there not half an hour ago."

"There are many bars in Bloodstone, princess. Same for the brothels. If you're gunna search them all, it will take you a few years of your pretty life."

"Then how do you suggest I _find_ him?"

He paused, thinking about it, and then shook his head, "Try asking the whores. Those gals seem to know where Reaver is pretty much permanently. And likewise the other way round, probably."

"Try asking the whores... well, it's not the _most_ obscene advice I've been given since ending up in this hole."

He gave a dry laugh, "I guess you're right there, princess. Travel safe, now. It'd be a shame to see another dead traveller around here. Especially one so..."

"So _what_." She asked, her voice low, echoing warning.

He smiled, slowly, "Never mind. Just travel safe, princess. Look out for that pretty little head of yours. Hate to see you losing it."

"I'll watch my back."

He looked at her, amused, "I think you'd be safer watching _others'_."

* * *

"You lookin' for a good time?"

Blade winced despite herself, "Actually, no. I'm looking for Reaver."

The whore raised her eyebrows, "Aren't we all?" she leant back against the wall she had been standing by and gave a satisfied smile, "What a man..."

She forced herself not to roll her eyes, "Yeah. Sure. Any idea where he is?"

"Not a clue, sweetheart. Hasn't been round my way for 'bout a week."

"Would that be because you're a sycophantic bint who spends her time selling herself outside of Fiendish Fashions?"

She wrinkled her brow, "Syco-_what_?"

Blade sighed, "Never mind. Anyway, considering what I've heard about him you're probably _just_ his type..."

"And you're not? Just who are you? You're new, aint ya?"

"Yes, I'm... new. I just came in through Wraithmarsh, hence..." she made a vague gesture to her dishevelled appearance, the dirt so recently combed from her hair, the blood she hadn't managed to get out of her jacket.

Her eyes widened, "You made it outta _Wraithmarsh_? Nothing comes from there but _ghosts_!"

"Yeah, well, it was pretty close. Only just made it, as a matter of fact..."

"But you got _through_?" she shook her head, incredulously, "And you're talking about _me_ being his type!"

Blade frowned, "Sorry?"

Her laugh pierced through the Hero's brain, and she gave a small, sly smile, "Reaver will take a _right_ fancy to _you_. Lucky girl..."

She shook her head, firmly, "I don't think so. _He_ is _definitely_ not my type."

The whore was suddenly back to 'business', "Oh, so you're _that_ way inclined... Good to know. So what d'ya say, treat - somewhere private?"

"Sorry, did you just call me _treat_?"

"Oh, come on! Let me show you the secrets of the universe."

She almost laughed, "No thanks. Really." Then she looked at her for a second, "What's your name."

"Roxa."

"_Roxa_. Interesting. And how much do you charge, _Roxa_."

"Ten gold." Roxa replied, smiling slightly, "No negotiations, mind."

"Sure." Blade dug in her pocket, taking out some change and counting it, quickly, "Here's... thirty-five. I need you to do me a favour."

"_Any_thing." The tone of her voice made Jaina's stomach clench.

"_Not_ _that_. I want you to look in Bloodstone's brothels. I want you to see if you can find Reaver."

"That would take _hours_!" she protested, immediately, "I can't leave here, my clients -"

"You will be well paid." Blade interrupted, firmly, "You get thirty-five _now_, come back to me after finding Reaver and I'll give you fifty more. That should cover your... _business_."

Roxa hesitated, looking at her. Then she nodded, reluctantly, "Okay. Fine. I'll do it."

"Thank you." She went into her holster and took out a short dagger, well-crafted and strong, passing her the handle end, "Give him this. Tell him Blade... hopes he enjoyed his entertainment. Tell him I'll call later today."

The prostitute nodded, quickly pushing the coins and the knife away in the fold of what could debatably be called a dress, "What else should I tell him?"

"What d'you mean."

"Well... he'll want to know your name."

She shook her head, "I've already told you. I'm Blade. We'll keep to that for now."

"And he'll want to know what you look like."

"Then _tell_ him what I look like. I couldn't care less."

The woman looked at her for a moment, "You said Reaver wasn't your type. Are you gay or are you insane."

Jaina raised an eyebrow, and then shook her head, wearily, "Just because I don't want to get involved with a _pirate_ doesn't make me insane. _Or_ gay."

"You haven't met Reaver, have you."

"No, no I haven't. And don't give me any of that simpering rubbish. I've stopped before three prostitutes already and they just seemed content to rant on and on about him until they're blue in the face. Just, please, do as I've asked. When you're finished, I don't know this place very well, I'll be around here _some_where. Just find Reaver. Okay?"

"Okay."

She turned away, but, before she could leave, Blade called after her: "Do you really get any satisfaction out of doing what you do."

Roxa winked, smiling, "From _Reaver_ I do. Catch you later... _Blade_."


	3. Passing Time

**Passing Time**

"Hey, baby, y'know what'd be nice?"

"Whatever it is, I don't care." She interrupted, sharply, fixing him with a glare that would have convinced a _troll_ to leave her alone.

The guy got the hint, and quickly slunk back into another shadow in the bar. Blade shook her head and turned back to her drink, taking a sip. She grimaced. The beer was a thick, muddy-brown liquid with a layer of head that looked more suited to floating on top of some scummy lake down in Westcliff, and so bitter it tasted like grit.

However, as everyone else in this pit seemed to think, alcohol was alcohol, and it was something to pass the time. The Leper's Arms had become more and more crowded now the day had passed its peak, and Blade could sense the tension becoming thicker, outing itself occasionally in small, pathetic breaks of fighting between the locals. She kept her head down and sipped her drink, the bartender silently placing another one in front of her whenever he saw she was finished, and tried to keep herself out of the way.

She knew it wouldn't last, and she was right.

Before long, a patron moved over to her side at the bar, "Hey. You. Wha's ya name."

She ran her tongue across the line of her teeth, and didn't answer.

The woman moved into her sight, and Blade moved her eyes to her, indifferently. She looked exactly the same as the other thirteen women in here - dark hair, dark makeup, dark clothes, and _filthy_. Her eyes flickered over her, and then returned to her glass.

"Hey. _Honey_." The woman said, sharply, "I'm talkin' to you."

A man came and joined her, standing by her side, "What you up to, Sherrie."

"Nothing I can't handle." She turned her attention back, "Aint that right?"

Blade said nothing, and continued sipping her drink. A part of her was begging them to take a swing at her, see how long they lasted. She did not like that part of her.

"Who let _you_ in?" she continued, shaking her head, "You're making the goddamn room look dirty."

She kept her silence, not holding direct eye contact, but raised an eyebrow. She hardly thought her presence could make _this_ dump look dirtier than it already was. She hardly thought _any_thing could.

"Hey, she's _talking_ to you, darlin'," the guy said, his voice gravelly from drink and drugs, and, possibly, overuse, "You ever learn to look at people when they're talking to you?"

"That was a _question_, sweetheart. _Answer_ it."

She paused, and then shook her head, as though noticing them for the first time, "I'm not looking for trouble."

One of them put a hand on Blade's shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to hurt, "We're _talking_ to you. Now you gunna listen if you know what's good for you."

Blade sighed, and put down her drink. She gracefully got to her feet, and stood, watching them, "Well? I'm listening; you have a tongue, speak."

"I don't like your attitude."

"_I_ don't like _you_ at _all_."

"You're in over your head, sweetheart," Sherrie said, shaking her head, "I'm warning you: don't try to mess with us."

In over her head? Who the hell did they think _they_ were messing with, here?

"I didn't ask for trouble," she replied, her voice quiet and calm, "_You_ decided to bring this. Not me."

"Oh no, darlin', _you_ decided to start this the soon as you poked your pretty little nose into this bar. We don't welcome newcomers here, backwash, so why don't you just get the hell out."

She looked at her for a second, thinking. Her heart had begun to pound. Not fear - _adrenaline_. It was a reflex, and not particularly needed. She could take out these two without breaking a sweat. Her hand twitched towards the nearest weapon - her Daichi.

The bartender was watching them, uneasily, "What's going on here, Sherrie."

She snapped her head to him, "None of your damned business, Clay, so shut it before I shut it _for_ you." She turned back, "Aint that right?"

The Hero tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow, and said nothing.

"Hey! I'm _talking to you_!"

"I know you are," Blade replied, patiently, "But I'm not listening. Good day, sir, ma'am."

She started to turn around. Suddenly, one grabbed her shoulder with a clawed hand, "Don't you turn away from _us_!"

Blade spun around and caught the man's fist in her hand, easily blocking his punch. She vaguely noted that the whole pub had gone eerily quiet.

She shook her head at him, "Don't touch me."

Then she made a swift movement with her arm, throwing his hand to the right and releasing it. The guy looked at her for a second, and then gave a small, grim laugh, and pushed Sherrie back a step, his air one of a man readying himself for a fight.

Blade shook her head again, "Sir. I suggest you back away. _Now_."

He shook his head, "You'll pay for that, sweetheart. I'm gunna enjoy this."

She felt her fingers twitch again. She didn't want to do this, he was defenceless, really, and she never killed when she could avoid it. But... was he going to give her a choice...

He moved towards her, paused, checking her out, and then yanked out a steel cutlass. He swung, and, in one, flowing movement, Blade drew her Daichi. Metal hit metal and she ducked, kicking out, knocking him back a few paces.

People were standing now, making a circle around them, baying and jeering like they were at the damned Crucible. Blade got in a hit, slicing him across the arm, more blood splattering the already stained walls, and the man lashed out, catching her unawares, slamming her back into a few barrels. She stumbled, but didn't fall, and righted herself quickly, throwing out a wall of Will to knock back another potential competitor, barely wincing when he got in a cut of his own, blocking his next strike with a full-on swing.

There was a growl and then barking, loud, booming barks. Blade's eyes automatically slid to the sound. Boy, who had been sitting outside peacefully, occasionally raising his hackles to scare away a few cocky bandits, had heard the commotion and ran straight into the bray. He rushed to her aid, snarling, snapping at the guy's legs.

The man let out a small snarl and booted the dog away, glancing up at the woman, "Kill that mutt, will ya?"

Sherrie pulled out a pistol, taking aim.

"_No_!" Blade shouldered the man back into the bar, knocking his weapon to the floor, forcing her Daichi against his throat. She shook her head, furiously, and, instead of her usual repeater crossbow, yanked out a small clockwork pistol and fired a single shot into the door an inch to the left of Sherrie's head, blasting open a small hole.

* * *

The woman immediately stopped where she was, gun pointed at Boy's head.

"Drop it." Blade growled, shaking her head, slowly, putting more pressure on her knife while deftly cocking the pistol again.

There was a pause, and then Sherrie let the gun fall to the floor with a loud clatter.

Blade turned, eyes flashing with anger as she looked around at the whole bar, letting her disgust and anger flow easily from her, raising her voice so it was easily audible in the silence, "Right! Now! Let me put down a few ground rules! If anyone so much as _touches_ me or my dog again I am going to put my pistol to their worthless head and pull the trigger! Is that in _any_ way un_clear_!"

There was silence. Even this rabble of drunken scum knew she wasn't kidding, knew better than to challenge this woman who loathing radiated off like heat.

She paused, moving her gaze over them, and nodded, slowly, forcefully calming herself down, "Right. Good. That's better."

She turned back to the patron at whose throat she still had held her sparkling blade. She paused, and then wrenched it away, not a spark of guilt in her as she saw the thin line of blood the blade had brought, "Get the hell out of here."

The guy moved immediately, scurrying out of the door, followed closely by the woman.

Blade watched the empty space for a second, and then turned round, sliding the Daichi back into her belt and holstering the pistol. She downed the rest of her drink, slammed some gold down on the bar, and then swept out the door, Boy close on her heels.

* * *

"Blade, I just got back from - _whoa_, what the hell happened to _you_?"

Blade turned round, taking in the face with no surprise, "Nothing I couldn't handle, just a few bar louts who aren't going to be bothering me again. What you got for me, Roxa."

"I... Reaver's up at the Vice, a brothel about a mile from here. He said he'll be back at the Mansion in an hour or so - you can call in on him then."

"About a mile? What took you so long?" She had the decency to blush, and, immediately, Blade held up a hand, "Never mind, I don't want to know. Here. Fifty gold, like I promised. Thanks."

"Any time. And, Blade?"

She turned back, "Yes?"

Roxa hesitated, "Reaver... took a lot of interest in you. I just... thought you should know."

"What in, specifically?"

"Well... getting through _Wraithmarsh_, mostly, like I said he would. An' he _did_ wanna know what you looked like. He was quite interested in _that_ as _well_." She nodded at her, almost uneasily, "_Those_, in particular."

Blade frowned, following her gaze, and then realised she was talking about her glowing Will lines. Well. Of course Reaver would find _those_ interesting. Maybe there was a spark of Hero left in him after _all_...

"What did he ask." She asked, curious despite herself.

"Well, he was sort of... _busy_ at the time, so he didn't really..."

Blade raised an eyebrow, incredulously, "He was screwing some harlot while he asked you questions about _me_?"

She flushed again, "I _was_ the harlot."

The Hero closed her eyes for a second, giving a small, inward groan, "Oh, Roxa. D'you have _no_ self respect?"

"Not when it comes to him."

"Reaver?" she said, sceptically, "_Really_? I mean, I haven't even _met_ the man, but with what I've heard he'd be just any other rich, chauvinistic, callous, idiotic _bastard_ if he didn't have such a good trigger finger."

"He's very quick on the draw."

"I'll give him that."

"No-one stands in his way for long."

Blade shook her head, giving a bark of a laugh, "Good for him, he's a _murderer_, _too_! What the hell do all you people _see_ in him?"

"He's rich, powerful, handsome, strong, brave -"

"_Brave_? Let me tell you this, sweetheart - brave is being able to _not_ pull the trigger. Brave is taking into account not just _your_ limits but also the limits of the person in front of you. Why kill when you don't have to."

Roxa looked at her for a moment. Then she shook her head, "You haven't met him yet. You'll understand when you do. You really will."

"I don't think so."

"_I_ do."

She sighed, shaking her head, pulling at the glove on her left hand, "He's just a man, Roxa. And, though I may... _admire_ him somewhat, I don't feel anything for him, and the things that he's done aren't exactly what I look for in a relationship. And, besides." She held up her bare hand, showing her the simple gold ring, "I'm taken."

Roxa paused, thinking, "Do you love him?"

"My husband? More than anything in this world. More than anything in _any_ world."

"Kids?"

"Two. Boy and a girl."

The prostitute paused again, looking at her. Then she shook her head, "You hold onto them. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, "Good. Now. I better be off. I'll have customers waiting."

"Fine. See you around, maybe."

"Maybe."

Roxa turned and left, walking slowly up the cobbled street, back to that point outside Fiendish Fashions where she pulled tricks. Blade sighed. This place... She wouldn't let it get to her. She _wouldn't_. It was just Westcliff, in the days _before_ Barnum, just a bigger Westcliff, and she wasn't going to let a big Westcliff throw her off what she had come here to do.

But winning over the inhabitants of Westcliff had been easy. She had won them over the second she walked out of the Crucible, victorious. The second people had started calling her Blade.

She paused, her fingers moving over the hilt of her new weapon. It had been a shame to change blades, but an unexpected Balverine attack had cracked the augmented Master Katana right in two. It had pained her to let it go, and she had immediately thrown herself into the search for a new blade, one up to her expectations.

She had considered the legendary Longsword, the one she had returned with after the Spire. But, despite its favourable properties, she was just not all that keen on using the Commandant's old weapon, so, instead, she went out searching for a blade she had only heard rumours about - the Daichi. And she had found it. Deep in Archon's Knot, the entrance being only a short distance away from where she had stood so often, searching through Garth's tower for anything that could help her figure out exactly what she was facing.

The Daichi was a magnificent weapon, incredibly light, with many augmentations of its own. But still... she sometimes mourned the loss of that original Katana, the weapon that had started it all.

Blade shook her head and turned, heading towards the quay. She had an hour left, and she wanted to find a place that none of these bandits knew of, and sit and watch the water, look out on the slowly building Spire. It helped her focus. It had been a long time since she slept, and the journey through Wraithmarsh had greatly weakened her. And right now... she really needed to be focussed.

* * *


	4. The Pirate

**The Pirate**

"Norman. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, princess. Back so soon?"

"I gave him a few hours, and he assured me he'd be here. _Is_ he?"

Norman gave her a lopsided smile, and then nodded to the door, "See for yourself. Through the back."

Blade nodded her thanks, motioned to Boy to stay, and then moved slowly through the door. The interior echoed the exterior - luxurious, comfortable, all red and gold, with two suits of armour flanking the entrance. She glanced around her, suddenly quite uneasy. She stepped further onto the red-and-black tiled floor, well aware that her boots were probably still quite dirty from the trek through Wraithmarsh, and that her highwayman's coat was still slashed open in a few places by knifes and fangs.

She didn't want to smarten herself up - she didn't want to give the _Pirate King_ the satisfaction, whether he knew she had done it or not - but she found herself almost automatically smoothing down her hair and adjusting her long jacket. She stopped herself, immediately, and shook her head. Then she walked across the hall to the next door. She hesitated, hand an inch away from the wood, and then sighed, and knocked.

"Come."

The voice was relatively young, slightly high and posh. Blade hesitated again. She could still turn back.

She shook her head and pushed open the door, taking a few steps into the room.

"Ah, hello my dear! I was wondering when you were going to show!"

* * *

Blade paused, taking a moment to look him over.

He looked young, around thirty, with a thick head of brown hair, styled back on his head, and intense green eyes. He wore very expensive clothes, again of deep red and gold (Blade had an odd feeling that he'd had them dyed to match the house - or, worse, the other way round), with a small cape and a holster belt that clipped around his hips and then crossed over his chest. He had a cream bowtie, neatly fixed, and his maroon waistcoat had a lining of pure white fur.

The scene in front of her was... unexpected. The _Pirate King_ was standing with one foot up on a white block while a young woman to his right painted him. His back was ramrod straight, and he was holding a golden pistol into the air.

She had just started to look it over, interested, when he pushed the pistol away in his holster, turning to her, warmly, "Hello there! Come in, come in!"

He sounded hospitable, polite, with a warmth to his voice that she wouldn't have expected of him, and she was surprised into softening a little. She returned a slight echo of his smile, and took a few steps further into the room.

He mirrored the gesture, completely ignoring the painter and moving over to her, smiling, "Always a nice surprise to have company - I don't get many visitors to my little costal paradise." His eyes flickered over her, casually, "Especially ones who might help _redefine_ a man's concept of paradise."

She raised her eyebrows, for a moment not really believing what he had said, the words and all that they implied taking her back slightly. Her words froze in her throat, the courteous reply she'd been meaning to give completely forgotten.

He saw the reaction, and smiled, slowly, "Thank you, by the way, for sending dear little Roxa round to find me. I hadn't seen to her for quite some time, I have been _very_ inattentive."

She looked at him for a moment. His voice... It just wasn't... _right_. His tone was so courteous one might forget what he was actually _saying_.

He raised an eyebrow at her lack of reply, "Well? You are Blade, yes? I got your little present. Nice weapon, _very_ nice. Expensive? Do you _always_ send a knife with your messengers? Some sort of calling card, is it... _Blade_?"

Blade stayed silent, watching him, her surprise shifting neatly into caution. She could sense a game of cat-and-mouse emerging, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be the mouse.

_We need his help - and he wants to play his little game. So __**you**__ must play it - or Lucien will get what __**he**__ wants._

Her hand tightened slightly. Like hell, Theresa. Like hell she was going to play along with _this_.

He looked her over again, "Not a talker, are you? Well you'll have to engage me in _some_ form of communication, my dear, or I'm afraid I will have no idea of what I can... _do_ for you." He gave that smooth, refined smile again, "And vice _versa_, of course."

She straightened a little, and raised an eyebrow, "Sorry about that, I was just mentally debating turning round and going back where I came from."

The pirate looked delighted, "She speaks! And what a... _beautiful_ accent she has."

She forced herself not to blush. Her accent was unusual, she knew - partly developed from the cultured Theresa and partly the slight drawl of the gypsies.

She shook her head, gathering herself, "I'm Blade."

He smiled, "I know. There's little that goes on in my kingdom that I _don't_ know about, essentially." He moved closer to her, holding up a finger, taking on a mockingly-scolding tone, "_You're_ the little miss who shot a hole through The Leper's Arms' _door_."

Her face flushed slightly, but not much. "And?" she asked, slowly, her voice deep with warning.

He smiled, "Nothing. It was just an observation. _Like_, for instance..." he leant towards her, lowering his voice, as if they had reached something of particular interest, "Dearest Roxa told me you came through Wraithmarsh. Is that correct?"

Blade paused for a moment, and then nodded, slowly, "Yes. Hence..." she made a vague gesture to her scruffy appearance.

He nodded, looking at her, thoughtfully, "On the rare occasion that people make it through Wraithmarsh they're lost, confused... _scared_. But not you. You're looking for someone. And if you're looking for someone in _Bloodstone_, let's be honest - you're looking for me."

"I hardly see why I would have come to your house if I were _not_ looking for you." Her voice contained the slightest tint of sharpness, firmly letting him know that she was not going to play ball on this.

He noticed, and smiled, "Of course. You're here for _some_thing. My assistance, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"Well. Perhaps we should discuss terms." He raised an eyebrow, "Over a drink?"

"I don't think that's a very good idea."

He gave a small laugh, "Well, I never discuss business without a glass of wine in my hand. Come." He turned to the painter, finally acknowledging her presence, "We'll discuss the shoddy nature of your _skills_ _later_, Miss Carver. Norman will see you out."

Miss Carver blushed red, and took up her equipment, quickly leaving the room.

Blade moved round to the easel, curious, and glanced over the painting of the pirate, "It doesn't look so bad."

Reaver narrowed his eyes. She remembered what Norman had said - _Maybe he'll shoot you for the hell of it. He does that _- and quickly lowered her gaze to the floor. She had no desire to be on the wrong side of one of the greatest shots in all of Albion. He seemed to let the comment slip, and the smile slid back onto his face, "Come. Through here."

She followed him, shooting him a look as he stepped back at the door, courteously, allowing her to go through first. He smiled, and then motioned her to a seat by a long, mahogany table, and she slowly sat down. He walked over to a glass cabinet on the wall, glancing at her over his shoulder, "Are you hungry?"

Blade thought about it. Her supplies had run out early this morning, when she was a few miles away from Bloodstone, and, since arriving, she hadn't found any shops at all that could cater for her vegetarian needs.

She shrugged off her jacket, pulling off her gloves and pushing them into the pockets, "Have you got any fruit?"

The pirate shot her another amused look, and then shook his head, turning back to the cabinet, "Coming right up."

Blade's cautious eyes flickered over his turned back. She watched closely as he picked up a bottle of wine and two goblets and placed them on the table in front of her, and then turned back again to the cabinet.

She looked at the bottle. It didn't have a label.

"Here."

She looked up just in time to catch the large, green apple he had thrown at her. Reaver smiled, "Oh, _very_ good. You're a quick one, aren't you?"

She tossed the apple and caught it, deftly, "I have my hobbies."

He smiled again, slowly, "I bet you do."

She raised an eyebrow, and then shook her head, turning her eyes to her pack and rifling inside until she found a sharp, small bladed knife. She cut the apples into quarters, the blade cutting easily through the flesh, and then sliced out the core with smooth, deft semicircles. Then she started cutting the quarters again into thinner slices.

She heard him sit down in the chair opposite her, and glanced up. He opened the bottle of wine and took her glass, filling it.

She watched the red liquid pour, still slicing with the knife, using her palm as a makeshift cutting board, "What is it?"

"Claret."

"Claret?"

"Yes."

He handed it to her, and she brought it up to her lips. She paused, "It's doesn't smell like Claret."

"No. It's an older Claret, foreign, uncommon, unfortunately overlooked."

She glanced at him, "Clairet."

He smiled, "Correct." He nodded to the glass, picking up his own, "Enjoy."

Blade paused, and then slipped a piece of freshly cut apple into her mouth, following it with a sip of the rosé. It was... different. Full of vanilla and spices and taste, and thick, like pure grape juice. Having been brought up for the larger part of her life in a gypsy camp, Blade knew alcohol. But... this strange, rich flavour was new to her.

He watched her, closely, "Do you like it?"

She thought about it, and then nodded, "It's... different. But, yes, I do."

He smiled, "Good."

She took a bite out of another slice of apple and watched as his eyes followed her lips. She paused, and then shook her head, firmly, "You said we should discuss terms."

"Yes I did." He shifted in his chair a little, getting more comfortable, and then looked at her, "Maybe you should tell me what you want my assistance _with_, first."

Blade looked at him for a moment. How much should she tell him? He had seemed to have no idea of who she really was, unlike most people back on the mainland. And, despite her having not so subtly told his guy out the front that she was a Hero, Norman hadn't appeared to have transferred this information.

And what about _him_? Did he truly know how unique he was, how powerful? Well, considering his arrogant demeanour, maybe he did, but did he know _why_? Did he know he had Hero blood? Maybe she should keep that little personal detail to herself... along with _hers_. Better if he just thought she needed his help as a _fighter_, as an excellent marksman. No reason for him to know more than he needed to.

"Well." She said, slowly, impassively, "Where do I begin..."

* * *

Reaver watched her. He heard what she was saying about Fairfax, about his many evils, the people he had killed, the men he had enslaved and so on and so forth, but he wasn't particularly listening. He was watching her. The girl had cropped, dark hair that just brushed her neck, with light, hazelly-brown eyes. Her highwayman attire was something reserved for places like these where she would need an extra edge - this girl was obviously no _sort_ of buccaneer.

Though... she _had_ managed it through Wraithmarsh. Those weapons she had so reluctantly lowered to the floor were not just for show. Her body was toned, strong, and she had the look of a fighter in her eyes. And Norman had said something about her being very renowned in other parts of Albion. What gift was this that had wandered so willingly into his humble abode?

Reaver watched her as she grew more animated, more passionate in her cause, seemed to relax slightly in his presence. But there was something in her tone. Something almost like... _need_. _Desperation_. And it was well suppressed. Something was going on here...

He raised a hand, stopping her in the middle of her telling him another of Lucien's travesties, and cocked his head slightly to one side, "What's in it for you."

She seemed slightly taken aback, "What d'you mean?"

"I mean what I said, my dear. What's in it for _you_. Why are _you_ doing this."

She paused, and a glimmer of her protective shell came back down, "Just... consider me a concerned bystander."

"A good-hearted civilian."

"If you like."

He looked at her for a second, and then shook his head, "No no no, I don't buy that, I'm afraid."

She raised an eyebrow, "Sorry?"

"What makes this so personal?"

"It's _not_ personal."

"You're in this for something. What is it." She just looked at him, and he shook his head, "This to me sounds almost like a _quest_. You've singled out Lucien and you're not going to stop tracking him until one of you is dead. Now. There's only two reasons why one would do that, in my eyes: for _revenge_, or... because he has something you _want_." He looked at her for a second, considering, "So which one are you. Vengeance or riches."

She shook her head, giving a small, harsh laugh and taking a too-quick sip of her drink, "You are _way_ off the mark."

"I am _never_ off the mark." He replied, dangerously. She looked at him for a moment, and then nodded, slowly, realising her mistake. He paused a second himself, calming, and then smiled, refilling her glass almost to the brim, and then continued: "That is the price of my assistance, I'm afraid. Tell my why, and I'll consider helping you."

Blade paused for a long time, looking at him. Then she shook her head, slowly, "Revenge."

"Why."

"Let's just... leave it at that. I want revenge. Or... _justice_, whatever you like. Will you help me?"

Reaver looked at her. And make it that easy? Not a chance. "What's your name." He asked, curiously.

"Blade."

He shook his head, impatiently, "_Blade_ is not a name. It's a ridiculous sobriquet, and probably not one of your own concoction. What is your _real_ name."

Blade paused, as if thinking about it. Then she shook her head, "Jaina." She replied, very reluctantly, "My name's Jaina."

"Jaina." He repeated, nodding, "Unusual." She blushed, and he smiled, "But quite beautiful, of course."

She shook her head, angry at her embarrassment, "Well, I hardly think _you're_ really called _Reaver_."

He smiled, and leant forwards, putting a finger on her wrist, playfully, "Ah yes, but _I'm_ not the person of _question_ here, _am_ I. _You_ are. You came looking for _my_ help, not the other way around."

She shook her head, averting her eyes to her left, as if she was now wishing she had never come. He smiled. He looked at her glass and noticed it to be, again, empty. He took it, solicitously, and got to his feet, moving back to the wine cabinet for a refill. The Clairet had done well in relaxing her - she was nowhere near as attentive as she had been at first, and didn't even notice as he slipped a little something extra into this new drink.

He turned back, placing the glass in front of her, "Your curiosity is, perhaps, understandable, but I am afraid I will not indulge it. After all, you are placing me at quite a disadvantage, here."

"A disadvantage in being given the chance to stop a killer?" she asked, sceptically.

He smiled, as if realising his 'oversight', "Well, of course. There is that."

She shook her head, absentmindedly lifting the rosé to her lips and taking a sip. She placed another slice of apple into her mouth and he smiled. Was she using the sweet fruit to rid herself of the taste of the wine? Or was she more used to those sugary, over-flavoured concoctions that children frequented? Probably the latter. That could play to his advantage.

He smiled, curiously, and leant back slightly in his chair, "So where do you come from, _Blade_. Or does that count as too _personal_ for you."

She gave him a frankly quite adorable look, exasperation with a touch of anger, "Bower Lake gypsy camp. East of Bowerstone."

He raised an eyebrow, mocking surprise, "A _gypsy_ camp? I would never have expected it of you! Your apparel is so..." he looked her up and down, "_Refined_."

She gave a small, lopsided smile, and popped another slice of apple into her mouth. He smiled back, realising he was getting somewhere, and pressed it, teasing her: "I bet you were one of the most _foxy-lookin' gals_ in the camp with _that_ little number."

She gave a small laugh, and then shook her head and took a long drink from her glass, placing it back down on the table and licking her lips, unconsciously. His pirate eyes easily caught the movement, and he felt something tighten in his chest. He raised an eyebrow. She frowned for a second, and then, realising what she'd done, she flushed a little, averting her eyes to the floor.

Reaver smiled, "My my, we're a _shy_ one, _aren't_ we?"

She shook her head, quickly, "It's just, it's good wine, I wasn't..."

"Of course. But, please, if you again feel the need to show your appreciation, don't restrain yourself on _my_ account."

She sighed, wearily, "You're insufferable."

He smiled, "And here was I thinking we were having fun."

The girl paused, looking at him, and then just shook her head, raising the goblet to her lips again. His eyes followed it, lingering on the slight glisten the wine made on her bottom lip, her throat constricting as she swallowed. He had never had to work so hard to win someone over before. The challenge was both infuriating and exhilarating. He hardly had that big an attention span for women, but he was finding the chase of this one hard to resist.

_Anyway,_ he reflected, eyes once again tracing her glass, _This won't take too long. Something tells me my little Blade is going to be slightly more... __**amenable**__ after this drink._

"Stop staring at me."

He smiled, "It's pleasing for me to watch you drink. Is that a crime?"

"No, but it is very annoying."

He smiled again. So sweet. And, yet, not as innocent as she seemed. His eyes shimmered over the single gold ring on the finger of her left hand, and then returned nonchalantly to her face. Nothing that had ever stopped him before.

Jaina hadn't seen. Her eyes once again traced the table, the walls, the floor, anywhere but his face. She shook her head, slowly, and yawned. She covered her mouth, quickly, blushing slightly, and he smiled. She caught his eyes, "What."

He smiled again, "I don't know what you're talking about, love."

"You're _staring_ at me! Come on, out with it! What do you want?"

Reaver paused, considering it, and then smiled, "I wish to add another clause to my price."

Her eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious, but there was still an almost soft quality to them that he had been banking on, "You said me telling you why I was hunting _Lucien_ was your price."

"Just one, I assure you." He looked at her for a second, a smile playing around his lips, "I want you to spend the night _here_."


	5. Hospitality

**Hospitality**

Blade raised an eyebrow. She had been allowing him to assume that she assumed they were getting comfortable for quite a while now, but she had been somewhat banking on his upbringing to prevent him from asking her directly for what he wanted.

Big mistake, apparently.

She shook her head, immediately, "I don't think that's a good idea."

She felt her body screaming otherwise, and almost frowned when she realised just how tired she was. She glanced out the window and saw it was now dark. How long had they been talking for? It must have been three hours, at _least_.

She shook her head again and stood up, slipping the apple knife into her belt, "In fact, I really should be going."

Reaver swiftly got to his feet, "So soon? Come, Jaina, stay a while longer."

She shook her head, "If I stay any longer it'll be so dark I won't be able to find my way. I don't know this place well, and I have _no_ intention in getting _lost_ in it."

"Then _stay_. Stay _here_."

"I don't think so."

"You don't trust my hospitality?"

She shook her head, picking up her jacket and folding it neatly over her arm, thinking quickly, "I'm sure you are _very_ hospitable, but would you let in _Boy_."

"Boy?"

"My dog."

His nose wrinkled with distaste, as she knew it would, "You have a _dog_?"

"And you have never had a pet, I assume?"

"Well." He murmured, thoughtfully, "Never one that wasn't _human_..." She raised an eyebrow and he laughed, "I kid you, Jaina! She was more of an _odalisque_ than a pet, really..."

He succeeded in drawing a small smile out of her. He shook his head, "Jaina, in return for your company, you may invite as many animals into this house as you please."

She raised the eyebrow again. She hadn't been expecting that, and she could tell by his small smile that he knew it.

He looked at her, expectantly, "I'll send Norman to fetch him now, if you like?"

"Reaver, I'm not staying the night in this house."

"And why not?"

She gave a low, weary sigh, "Because I do not trust you. That's why." He just smiled, and she shook her head again, "There's an inn about half a mile down the road, I'll stay there."

He laughed, as if he found the notion absurd, "Look, if you really think you'll be safer spending the night in The _Leper's Arms_, then fine. Go."

She hesitated. She bent down to pick up her shoulder holster and her pack, slowly, giving herself time to think.

She remembered her reluctance to enter the establishment when she first arrived, her disgust at the eyes that followed her round the bar, never leaving her figure. She'd hated the fact that all conversation stopped the second she set foot in the place, that all whores in the joint seemed to immediately converge on her, prostitutes of _both_ genders, slipping into a seat beside her and trying to see how far they could get. She hated that, whenever she ordered a drink, the bartender gave her a once-over to see how much he could hit her up for. She hated that she'd had to start watching where people's hands were, constantly tense, ready to stop either a pickpocket or a chauvinist.

She hated _all_ of it.

The pirate watched all this information flicker through her eyes, carefully. Then he shrugged, and continued his gibes, his voice infuriatingly casual, "Or I suppose you could always spend the night in a nice brothel. There's quite a sophisticated one just down the road from here, should be right up your street. I should know. I _own_ it. Maybe _they'd_ appreciate a new _employee_..." every sentence made her bristle, sent anger and disgust pulsing through her and he knew it, but it seemed he couldn't resist adding another dig: "Who knows - perhaps you'll find yourself a permanent profession."

She waited through the whole speech, looking at him. His attempts to keep her in his presence were both logical and insane - what he was saying was true, but why would she stay with a man who would say such things?

Her eyes were calculating. But she knew she wasn't as alert as she normally was, as she _should_ be. She really _was_ exhausted. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. She put it down to her gruelling, horrifying trek through Wraithmarsh. The Banshee's assault on her still echoed through her mind, her subconscious, bringing up old fears and terrible desires.

Her coffee-with-cream eyes flickered over the pirate in front of her - because that was what he _was_, a _pirate_ - and she shook her head, slowly, "If anyone in the Arms tried anything I could easily get them off. A few drunken bandits. It would be too easy." Then she hesitated, looking him over again, "But _you_... you I'm not so certain about."

But her mind filled her with doubt. _Would_ she be able to take on the entire population of The Leper's Arms? Numbers over strength... she supposed it depended on just how _many_ numbers. She wouldn't be able to take more than, say, ten at a time? If they planned it right? And what happened if they _did_?

And, more dangerously, what if old Sherrie and her pet Hobbe came along for a little payback? Had she pissed off the inhabitants so much that they would easily rise up against her?

She looked at him, "How would I know you wouldn't try something."

Reaver raised an eyebrow, "You have my word as a gentleman."

"Not worth a thing, I'm afraid."

He shook his head, "Why would I kill you when I have _use_ of you?"

"Yeah, well... there are worse things than dying."

A small, strange smile moved over his lips, "I doubt it."

She looked at him, catching something unfamiliar in his voice. What _was_ that. Desire? _Fear_? It was almost... _wistful_. He knew something she didn't.

She shook her head, and then yawned again, once again covering her mouth quickly and going ever-so-slightly pink in her cheeks. She shook her head, firmly, trying to snap herself out of it. She had never been so tired; she felt it right the way through to the bone.

Reaver smiled. He moved forwards and put a remarkably solicitous hand on her forearm, urging her back out into the hall, "Come on. This way."

He led her up the stairs, and, such was her fatigue, she didn't protest. She allowed him to guide her, barely paying attention to where she was going, one hand tracing the wall.

She found herself in a room, all velvet and silk, amazingly luxurious, but she didn't care. She sat down on the bed, wearily, yanking off her shoes and dumping them on the floor. She ran her hands through her hair, staying like that for a while. She actually felt _dizzy_, like she was about to slip off any second. Avo. She was never going through Wraithmarsh again.

Reaver stood at the door, watching her. He waited until she looked up, and then smiled, slowly, "Comfortable?"

She shrugged, "Sure."

He smiled again, and then gestured behind him with a nod of his head, "There's a lock on that door. And there's a key on that table. If you feel the need to lock it... feel free."

She nodded, slowly. She would take that offer. Despite whatever fatigue had come over her... she was not willing to let herself slip up. In this house, that could be the last thing she would do. "Thankyou." She managed. She looked around the room she was in, almost hazily, and then back up to him, "Where's your room."

The pirate raised an eyebrow, "Why? Are you planning to come and take advantage of me while I'm in a vulnerable state?" He sounded typically amused.

She shook her head, wearily, "Yeah. Sure. _That's_ what I'm planning." Her voice, though undoubtedly ironic, lacked the sarcastic bite it usually had. _Damn_, she must be _really_ tired...

A smile twitched at his lips, and he nodded down the hall, "Third room on the right. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. Sleep well, Blade."

"Yeah."

He left, without another word. Blade paused for a moment, and then managed to force herself to her feet, go over to the door and lock it. She leant on it for a moment, letting her forehead touch the wood. She needed to sleep. _Now_.

She walked back to the bed, taking the key with her. She folded her jacket, placing it down on the chest of drawers beside her, and then pulled off her over-shirt, and with it the second holster, putting the full belt underneath. She slipped her Guild Seal over her head, absentmindedly, and then settled back on the bed, dragging the red cover over her.

Blade paused, and then reached over to the drawers, picking out one of the many pistols from the holster and pushing it under her pillow. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and was almost instantly out.

* * *

It was about half an hour or so later that Reaver unlocked the door. He walked across towards the bed, casually, the light from the candle he was carrying easily illuminating his path. He stopped at the side, watching her, smiling slightly, "Hello, Blade."

The girl didn't move, her eyes still closed, her breathing a soft purr in the darkness. He smiled again, and then stepped further forwards, moving the neat pile of clothes on the drawers slightly so he could place the candle down. He frowned, and then moved the top layer of clothing off.

He gave a small smile when he found the full holster, "Ah. Well. I cannot say I'm _surprised_... A little minx like you is unlikely to go anywhere _unprepared_, yes?" he thumbed through the many blades, pausing to admire a fairly good turret rifle - it seemed the girl wasn't just a wasted crossbow user after _all_ - and then took the whole pile and placed them neatly on a chair. Then he walked back, paused for a moment, and sat down on the bed beside her. It was a snug fit; she had rolled far to the left side, leaving a comfortable space on the right.

Maybe she was used to sharing her bed.

The idea sent a pulse through him, and Reaver took her hand, almost roughly, glancing down at the ring. He ran a thumb over it, sliding it up and down her slender finger. She twitched a little, but that was all the reaction he got. He looked at the unadorned gold ring and shook his head, "This man obviously doesn't desire you _that_ much, _Jaina_. A bit plain, don't you think?"

He leant down, putting a hand across to the other side of her to support his weight. Her dark brown hair was mussed a little, spreading across her face, and she had the thin red sheet pulled up high over her shoulders, hooking it underneath her.

He tugged at it, unfolding the sheet and pushing it off her. She had taken off her top shirt, her coat and her shoes, but apart from that she was completely clothed beneath the sheet.

He smiled, amused, shaking his head, "Well well, you really _are_ a shy one, _aren't_ you? Never mind. We can change all that given time."

He placed his hands on the pillow either side of her head and then frowned. He adjusted his weight and slid a hand underneath the goose feather pillow, searching. His hand touched metal and he grabbed it, pulling it out. He laughed to himself at the pistol, and then shook his head, placing it down on the chest of drawers, "Blade, you are my kind of girl."

He leant down again and kissed her unresponsive lips. He bit down, drawing out a low groan, her body trying to fight the sedative he had given her. She was a strong one. But not strong enough. His tongue slid up her jaw, and his hand made its way underneath her shirt, pushing upwards, searching out what attributes this highwaygirl seemed so keen to hide. He drew his legs up onto the mattress, shuffling slightly so he was kneeling over her, giving her the extra presence in the bed that she was so accustomed to. His hand moved, down, easily flicking open her belt and then pushing under the only pieces of protection she had from him.

Reaver stayed still for a moment, relishing the touch, and then shook his head, sifting his weight so he could hold himself up by his elbows. His free hand went down to his own belt, flipping open the holster and pulling out his Dragonstomper. Reaver had always known that his tastes - so to speak - had bordered on the extreme, and was not one to deny himself such pleasures because of social taboo.

He placed the barrel to her left temple, kissing her again while his other hand expertly worked on her. He smiled as he pictured the nameless, faceless husband coming in at this point, seeing them, seeing what he was doing to her. He could have killed him in a second, brought the pistol up and pulled the trigger, or maybe shot _her_, and _then_ him. Or would he do it the other way round? So hard to choose...

He had a choice to make now, on how far he was going to go. He could end it right now, pull the trigger, have the body disposed of early tomorrow, along with the bloody sheets. _Or_... he could make it a night to remember, and deal with her in the morning.

His agitated body chose the latter for him, and he shook his head, pressing his weight down into her and licking her lips. It aggrieved him a little that she wouldn't be able to remember this little encounter, but that, he reflected, couldn't be helped.

He slid his hand down further, the soft cloth rubbing against his skin, pushing a finger in a little deeper, testing her. Any other woman like his sweet Blade - even one as shy as _this_ charming little specimen - would be moaning now at his attentions, purring, and, at this point, he would easily be able to coax them into screaming out his name.

"Scream for me." He found himself murmuring, mouth pressed in the crook of her neck against soft skin, rubbing her firmly with his palm.

But she didn't.

* * *

Reaver sat up, frowning, his hand sliding off her, his pistol resting lightly on the pillow beside her. The unconscious Blade twitched slightly, and then rolled her head to one side. A strange feeling of dissatisfaction was moving over him. Well well. _This_ was unusual. He was feeling _regretful_. But what on earth _for_?

His eyes roamed over the girl spread out on his bed, head turned to one side, trousers unbuckled and opened, her top rumpled up above her waist to just reveal two small slivers of her bra. Then realisation moved over him, and he gave a small, exasperatedly-amused smile. Of course. He was feeling a little nostalgic. Nostalgic for the good old Bloodstone toms, who, whilst charging a pretty penny for their services, were so experienced in their methods that they could rock their way into an exquisite friction almost satisfying enough for him to spare them their lives.

He looked down at the young warrior. Was he really that wistful that he would forfeit a night with her right here right now? Put this encounter aside in favour of another with a bit more... _audience participation_? He really _did_ want her to be able to remember it, he knew that now. She was such a catch, such a beautiful specimen, and so rare - the last man to have escaped alive from Wraithmarsh had died from his injuries a few hours later; the one before that had not spoken a word since.

Reaver made up his mind. This one was too precious to waste like this, one rough night too quickly over with, too easily taken. No. She was exquisite. So spirited, fiery. No, he would make this one last as long as he could, savour it, savour _her_.

He smirked, brushing back her hair, "Seems it's your lucky day, my dear."

He straightened up, pushing his pistol back in its holster. He would see how long he could last without tasting her, torturing himself after having this too short intimacy. But a real encounter with little Blade, he was sure, would be worth the wait.

What to do until then. Well, a generous dose of anger and fear should keep the girl on a tight leash, at least while he found out a little more about her. And he knew just the thing.

Reaver rolled off her, getting to his feet and walking casually over to the wall. He tugged on a bell that he heard quietly echo somewhere downstairs, and then turned to the mirror, his reflection only just visible in the faint light of the flickering flame, and smoothed down his rumpled clothes a little, lazily.

The door creaked open behind him, and Reaver turned, greeting the familiar face with a hospitable smile.

The bandit's eyes moved over the scene in front of him, completely impassively, and then moved back to his face, "Sir."

"Norman, my man. Fetch me Miss Carver, would you."

Maybe his useless little painter needn't be disposed of after _all_. Well... at least not _yet_.

* * *


	6. Bunking with a Pirate

**Bunking with a Pirate**

The Pirate King shifted in his chair. He hadn't spent the night here - he knew it would have proved too much temptation for him to resist - instead having slept in his own room and returned a few hours after he had woken. The sedatives should have worn off by now, but little Blade was still sleeping. Her antics in Wraithmarsh probably had more than a little to do with it, and Reaver found himself thinking about her stamina - they'd have to do something about that.

She stirred slightly, burying her cheek into the pillow, her hair falling across her face. The sight made him twitch. He wanted to brush her hair back, expose her features to him again. But he stayed still in his chair, watching her. He had sat back here by the table, out of reach of her, for that very reason. He could feel desire burning through him, but he just watched her.

A thin, circular scar just below her bare left shoulder peeked over the sheet. He cocked his head to one side, frowning slightly. He hadn't seen that last night. If he had, he knew he would have investigated further. He forced himself to stay seated, itching to go other to her and pull the cover down, explore this odd scar. But he knew if he did that he would continue, rolling the sheet down further and further, until there was nothing at all preventing him from seeing her strong, toned body in all its glory.

Reaver looked at her again, her pure skin, her dark hair. So beautiful. So tempting. And in his bed. This new game he was playing, trying not to go too far with her, was going to be interesting. He wondered how long he could last.

"Reaver."

* * *

Blade opened her eyes, looking at him, seeing the way he suppressed all of his surprise into one cocked eyebrow.

"Where is my gun and why am I not wearing any clothes."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "Your 'gun', as you call it, is over here on the table beside me. And you're not wearing any clothes because it is a crime that someone with a body like yours is hiding it under the clothes of a highwayman."

She raised an eyebrow, "How perceptive of you."

"Yes, nice touch, by the way, the dye, dark green to a slightly darker shade of green..."

"It's black. What's it to you how I dress."

His eyes moved down and held, lazily, "Casual interest, my dear."

She pulled the cover higher, reflexively, and sat up, feeling her bare back hit the cold wooden headboard. The thin red sheet was tight over her, and she loosened it slightly, allowing the folds of fabric to leave more to the imagination.

He gave a small smile, the lethargy and ease in his eyes fading slightly to allow a flicker of animation, "Uncomfortable?"

"So _considerate_." She replied, scathingly, "I wouldn't have thought it of a _pirate_."

He smiled again, "Oh, very good. Very _quick_. Why _do_ you dress like a highwayman?"

She thought for a moment before she answered: "Casual. Easy to move in. Cheap. Dark, camouflaged, unnoticeable."

She left out the conversation with Garth in the Guild.

"Unflattering." The pirate added, raising an eyebrow, "Makes people mistake you for a woman of money and blood. And lets people know of your _atrocious_ dress sense."

"I don't care what people think about how I look."

"_That_ is _obvious_."

Blade shook her head, impatiently, "So your dislike of my clothing convinced you to relieve me of it?"

Reaver smiled again, a smile so casual, so indolent, it was beginning to infuriate her, "Now you put it like that, _yes_, I suppose. But don't worry - I got Miss Carver to... _relieve_ you."

She raised an eyebrow, only just recognising the painter's name, "Really? That doesn't seem like you, Reaver, missing out on the pleasure."

Her voice was just about as sharp as she could make it, but he just smiled that maddening smile, "No, it doesn't, does it? I like to keep people guessing."

"Don't tell me you valued my privacy."

"I _won't_. I was merely... gathering my pleasure elsewhere." He showed her his white teeth with a small, glittering smile, "I was playing a different game."

She shook her head, "I don't think we've got the same rule book."

"It wouldn't be _interesting_ if we _had_." He gave her a moment for that to sink in and then smiled again, "No, Miss Carver performed admirably. Followed my instructions to the letter. You're quite the sleeper."

"Not by choice. What was it."

He raised an eyebrow, "What was _what_?"

"Don't give me that. The wine. The wine last night. What did you put in it."

He smiled that smile and leant back in his chair, "I don't know what you're talking about."

She gave a small snarl of frustration and shook her head, "You drugged me. You drugged me to make me stay here. _Why_."

"Perhaps I just desired the pleasure of your company."

Blade looked at him. She didn't like the tone of his voice. Not that she _ever_ did, but right now it was particularly... _manipulative_.

She watched him for a moment, cautiously. He wasn't just a pirate. He was the best shot in all of Albion. The Hero of Skill, not that he knew it yet. She didn't like the idea of being caught like this - unprotected, vulnerable, and, most importantly, _unarmed_.

Her eyes flickered over him, "Why did you take my gun."

He rolled his eyes, lazily, "Oh, _please_, this isn't a _gun_, it's an _accessory_."

"Call it what you want, a shot to the forehead with that thing always leads the same way." He raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head, "It's small, portable, cheap - doesn't matter if I lose it - easy to load, five bullet capacity. That's all I need." Her eyes lingered on the weapon strapped to his belt, "I realise it's no _Dragonstomper .48_, but it suits its cause."

Reaver looked at her for a moment, smiling almost suspiciously, "What do you know of the Dragonstomper?"

"Not as much as I'd like."

He smiled again, almost _dangerously_, "Would you like to see it?"

"May I?"

"Of course." He got to his feet, fluidly, and walked over to her. Her hawk eyes locked on his as he got closer. He sat down on the side of the bed, and then handed her the pistol.

Blade paused before looking down at it. She tilted it, turning it over in her hands, "Adjusted clockwork pistol. Gold plated. Intricate design, _very_ nice." She flicked the magazine catch open, looking inside, "Eight bullet capacity. Nice and easy to get to, a quick reload time, I'm guessing?" she clicked it back into place with a flick of her wrist and then aimed towards the window, one eye shut, left finger on the trigger and right hand supporting the grip, "Easy on the wrist... Range of, let's say... forty feet?" she took it down, glancing at it, "Maybe more." She held it out to him by the barrel, "A good weapon. A _very_ good weapon."

Reaver watched her for a moment, smiling, curiously, "You're giving it back."

"It's yours."

"Well, I thought you'd at _least_ try to _shoot _me."

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, "Why would I do _that_?"

He slipped the pistol back into its holster, tilting his head slightly to one side, considering his answer, "Well. You're unarmed. Lying naked in a pirate's bed. Usually that would make people a little... _uncomfortable._"

She raised the eyebrow again and then shook her head, patronisingly, "Reaver. Nothing you could ever do... would _ever_ make me uncomfortable."

He smiled, amused, "Really? Well, we'll have to see about that, won't we?"

He moved fast, faster than she could have possibly anticipated, pinning her back down on the bed. Before she could react, he had lowered his mouth to her throat and was kissing her.

The pirate smelt of soap and some expensive cologne, added with the unmistakable hint of gunpowder, and easily forced her down, the cover she had pulled over her suitably restraining her legs and Reaver's bulk keeping her still.

He nipped her neck, playfully, his teeth small and sharp against her skin. She flinched, trying to pull back, but there was nowhere to go, "_Get_ off me."

He ignored her, completely, "Did I tell you about the isles of Athesia?"

"Reaver."

"They're a series of islands south of here, _far_ south. I landed on one of these islands - Melra - with my crew a few years back."

"Get _off_ of me."

"They had the most beautiful people there. Beautiful... _uninhibited_ people." He moved his lips down from her neck, down her collar, further, pushing aside the cover with his mouth, "They did things at night that made _me_ blush."

"Reaver!" she said, sharply, struggling with the grips on her wrists, trying to stop his mouth from going any further, "If you don't get off me now I am going to hurt you."

He smirked, "Feel free."

She gritted her teeth and shook her head, slowly. The pirate's tongue slid down her skin and she snapped. She threw out her hand, forcing out a concentrated blast of Will, and he was thrown back off her, smashing into the table.

* * *

Without looking at him Blade got to her feet, yanking the cover off the bed and wrapping it tightly around her. She was literally _shaking_ with anger as she collected her clothes that she found folded neatly on a chair and then snatched her pistol from the desk.

Reaver had righted himself, and was watching her furious movements with a small, amused smile, "Where are you going?"

She shook her head, still not looking at him, retrieving her pack along with the golden crossbow from the floor and slinging them over a shoulder, "Hell if I know. Somewhere far away from here. As far as physically possible. Oakfield, maybe. Or Rookridge. Screw it, maybe I'll go through Wraithmarsh. I could do with killing a few Hollow Men."

"This is how you let your anger loose?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. You know there are much more... _gratifying_ ways to do that."

"I prefer _my_ way. Where's my blade."

"Why won't you even _consider_ it."

"I'm not getting into this, where's my blade." He just looked at her, and she shook her head and gave a low snarl, "Look. If _you_ don't tell me where it is then I'll just have to find it _myself_, and in doing so I'll tear this whole goddamn house apart. So where _is_ it."

The pirate looked at her for a moment, and then smirked. He moved round to the back of the open door and pulled out her blade, chucking it to her. She caught it, deftly. The Daichi burned in her hand, ready, but she shook her head, "Not yet." She murmured, softly.

Reaver raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him. She turned, not even glancing at him, and walked out the door.

Naturally, he followed her, "Where'd you get that fancy looking sword from anyway?"

She shook her head, keeping her concentration on finding her way out of his maze of a mansion, "It's none of your business."

"What's its name?"

"The Daichi."

"Origin?"

"Originally belonged to Zuna Daichi, a warrior monk from Eastern Samarkand."

"Female?"

"Yes. Does it matter?"

He shrugged, "I suppose not. Much like her, are you?"

She shook her head, barely listening, opening a door, glancing inside, and then proceeding past it, "I'm no monk."

His infuriating laugh pierced through her mind, "No, I don't suppose you are."

She shook her head again, impatiently, swinging open another door and finding an empty bedroom. She cursed under her breath and turned to him, "Y'know, this would be a lot easier if you just told me how the hell I get _out_ of this goddamned place."

He gave a small, lopsided smile, "Easier for you or me?"

She cursed again, and turned, finally finding a staircase leading down at the end of the corridor. She tapped her way down it, her bare feet warm against the carpet, making her way into the next corridor. She got to a room she recognised, the large, highly decorated hall. She took a quick, sharp turn and headed towards the door.

"You're planning on going out like that?"

"Yes, actually."

"Aren't you afraid that might start... _rumours_?"

She shook her head, "It's early. There won't be many people about. And, anyway, any person stupid enough to try and spread _that_ around probably has a death-wish to boot."

"You're not concerned for your image?"

"I never really cared about what people thought of me. I'm not going to start now."

He took a quick step, moving directly into her way.

Blade looked at him for a second, bottling up her anger, "Reaver. I would suggest you move."

"Suggest isn't the same as demand."

"No, but suggest is politer. Get out of my way."

He smiled at her. He seemed almost _curious_. Curious as to why she was blocking him, as to why she was denying him. He probably didn't get denied a lot by the women of this town. By the _men_, _either_. Maybe he found her _amusing_. He sure seemed to not take her seriously.

She took a step to the right and he put out an arm, blocking the door. She let out a low, frustrated growl, "Don't make me ask you again."

He looked at her for a second, "No-one walks out this door willingly."

"Then I'm glad to be the first."

"Why won't you consider it." He repeated, a slight smile still lingering on his lips, "What's stopping you."

She shook her head, frustrated, "If you haven't _noticed_, I'm _married_."

He smiled, amused, "So am _I_! _Several_ times, as a matter of fact. And the man who bought you that piece of tin on your finger can't _possibly_ be worth barring yourself from tasting my attentions."

She flushed, angrily, "My husband is five _times_ the man you are. _You_ are an arrogant, chauvinistic, deceitful, murdering _scoundrel_ with nothing on his mind other than sex, alcohol and money."

He paused for a moment, and then held up a finger, "I take offence to that. I am _not_ deceitful. If there's one thing I _don't_ do, it's _lie_."

"You've lied to me once already."

"When."

She looked at him, "When you told me I could lock the door."

"I said that?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. So I did. But, if you recall, I never once said I didn't have a spare _key_."

She shook her head, disgustedly, "So it was a lie of omission. Same difference. Now move out of my way."

"No." He swept forwards, inhumanly quick, and forced his lips against hers, pushing her back against the wall. Blade tolerated the touch only long enough for her to switch her Daichi to her other hand and then slap him hard around the face.

He grabbed her wrist, squeezing, painfully, "You don't want to do that again."

"Oh really?"

She channelled her Will and jerked her head, sending him flying back into the opposite wall. Quickly, she yanked the door open and practically ran out onto the stairs. Norman looked her up and down and then shot her amused smirk, not surprised in the slightest at her lack of clothing. She shook her head at him, disgustedly, and then, tightening the sheet around her, started down the steps.

"Jaina."

* * *

The girl turned back. Reaver couldn't help but look her over. Standing there in nothing but a thin red sheet, tight so he could see her every curve, a sword held loosely in one hand and her clothes and gun in the other, her bag slung over a shoulder. She looked so... _vulnerable_. But there was a fiery spark in her eyes that caused a desire to burn inside him so hot he could barely stand it.

_Get her back in the house. Get her back in the house where you can make sure she won't go running off. Where you can keep an eye on her. Where you can do whatever you want to her._

He watched her for a moment, and then sighed, shaking his head, "Come back inside. Get changed. Then you can be on your way." Anger and suspicion flashed through her eyes and he shook his head, "Come on. You don't want to go out on the street like that. You'll be flagged down by a gratuitous customer in a second."

"Why d'you care." Her voice was like ice.

He shrugged, casually, "It would be bad for my image if a woman as beautiful as you walked out looking like _that_ without having been screwed or killed. I've got a reputation to uphold."

He watched her anger swell up inside of her, tinged with a tint of empathy for these other nameless women that he found delightfully charming. She cared. How sweet.

She shook her head, slowly, "No."

He paused, looking at her. Then he realised that, in this state of mind, she'd never agree, and smiled, slowly, "Alright. Okay, then. I must say, it's a pity. But you're not the only woman in this town. Will I be hearing from you again, my dear?"

She shook her head, scornfully, "When I've managed to calm myself _down_... when I can look at you without wanting to _shoot_ you... _yes_. Goodbye, Reaver."

He smiled again, "Goodbye, Blade. Travel safe."

She turned her back without another word. He watched her as she lightly tapped down the steps, looked around her, and then, spotting her mongrel animal lying by the gate, tapped her leg and gave a short whistle. The mutt immediately got up and followed her, and she left Bloodstone Mansion without so much as a glance back.

He let out a long, low breath. Norman caught his eyes, raising an eyebrow, "Princess giving you trouble, sir?"

"You have _no_ idea..."

"Mm. She said that she was a Hero."

He looked up, interested despite himself, "A Hero?"

"Yeah. Y'know, 'capital H' kind of Hero."

"Hmm... I will have to find out more about our little Blade, Norman. Feel up to a challenge?"

"Sure. She said she was coming here with a _mutually beneficial arrangement_. Did you get to it?"

"Maybe. It wasn't quite the arrangement I was hoping for."

"She did say brothels weren't her speciality."

"A pity."

He nodded, thoughtfully, "She also said her business didn't involve her whoring herself out on your whim, sir."

He narrowed his eyes, radiating danger, "_Did_ she."

"Yeah."

"_And_?"

The bandit shrugged, "And so maybe you should hope next time she doesn't come on _business_."

Reaver raised an eyebrow. Then he shook his head, and laughed. The man had just saved himself from a pine box. Again. He was a persistent one... Much like _him_.

* * *


	7. A Hero’s Work

**A Hero's Work**

Two hours and five bottles of the foulest tasting bitter she'd ever tasted later, Jaina still hadn't calmed down. She'd walked quickly up the street, around the corner to a small sort of hut she had passed on her way there. She forcefully endured double-looks and catcalls, and, once, a slap on the backside, which she had responded to somewhat erratically by sending the man in question flying into a metal fence. She'd changed in the empty hut, strapping her sword and crossbow back into her shoulder holster, and then just walked. She'd been walking for about a mile when she'd managed to find another dim, grimy pub called The Devil's Wings, and, thankfully, none of the occupants here had decided to try and take her on yet.

All that was out of place was the moron beside her.

He'd sat down next to her, despite the fact that there were plenty of other empty seats on this floor alone, and had progressed rapidly from a sober, vaguely unpleasant bandit to a complete drunken idiot, droning away about something she was neither caring about nor listening to.

Blade downed the rest of her beer, unable to stop a grimace, and then rapped her knuckles twice on the bar. Another drink was planted in front of her by the bartender. He eyed up the man beside her, distastefully, and then shot her a look caught between sympathy and weariness. She returned a look caught between frustration and pure desperation. If this guy didn't shut up soon she was either going to shoot him or herself, ancient rules of barstool protocol be damned.

She took a sip of the foaming brown liquid. Reaver hadn't left her mind for a moment. Not because she hadn't _wanted_ to forget him. It was because, in her head, there wasn't only one voice anymore.

_We need him on our side_. Theresa repeated for the umpteenth time, firmly, _We __**need**__ the Hero of Skill. Everything depends on it._

Blade deftly ignored her. Not something she was used to doing, really, but the alcohol was helping. Her anger at what the pirate had tried to pull was still fresh in her mind, and she knew that all that could come of her returning to him this early would be a bullet to a head, and she wasn't sure which one.

Everything about her encounter with the pirate - from the first barely-veiled suggestion to the last stolen kiss - brought up needles of anger deep inside of her, followed quickly by stabs of pain and guilt. She was a fool to have allowed him to con her so easily. She should never have agreed to spend the night in his house.

She played with the ring on her left hand, twisting it around on her finger. She could still remember the period with Michael after she had come back from the Spire. Awkward, frustrated, and sometimes even out-and-out _hostile_. She was stupid to allow anything to threaten their relationship again, even something as important as this.

_Avo, Michael, I'm so sorry._

Blade finished the rest of her drink, dully, her neighbour's babbling pure background noise. Seeing as the Pirate King seemed intent on screwing with her both physically _and_ mentally she was going to have to tread carefully from now on. Theresa was right, as much as she hated to admit it. Lucien had to be stopped. And for _that_... they needed Reaver.

"You after another, hon?"

She gave a low sigh, eyes tracing the bottle in front of her. Then she shook her head, "Better give it a sec. I don't think this junk'll be going to my head anytime soon, but there's a first time for everything."

"Sure thing."

He left for another customer. Blade shook her head again and picked up the bottle, putting it to her lips and tilting it back, letting the last few drops sting her tongue.

"You shouldn't be drinking after what he gave you."

* * *

Blade placed down the bottle, indifferently, having already recognised the voice, "Really."

Norman walked into her peripheral vision, "Yep. It might not have got out of your system yet."

"Why would _you_ care."

"I've told you. I _don't_." he turned to the bandit next to her, still mumbling away to himself, "Move. _Now_."

The guy looked up at him for a second, blearily. Then he nodded, dragged himself to his feet and stumbled away.

Blade looked at him, "If I'd have known that'd work I would've done it an _hour_ ago."

Norman nodded and sat down beside her, "I bet you would. But it seems I know the bars of this place just a little bit better than you. Been looking for you _every_where, princess."

"Yeah, well turn around, walk out the door and _keep_ looking."

"I don't think so." He caught the barman's attention as he passed, "Bowerstone Brown, Tony."

"Comin' right up." He glanced at her, "Another?"

Norman shook his head, "She'll have an Indefinite Squire."

Blade frowned at him, "Wait wait wait, what the hell's _that_."

"You'll like it. She'll have a Squire."

"Sure thing."

"She sure as hell _won't_." she replied, heatedly, "What's _in_ it."

"It's nothing you can't handle." He glanced at her empty bottle, distastefully, "Especially if you've been drinking _that_ piss water. But if you'd rather stay on gutter beer, be my guest."

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "Fine. Whatever. Go ahead."

Tony looked her over, quickly, and then nodded, turning his back.

Blade turned on her chair, "Now I trust you about as far as I could throw you, so I better be able to taste the alcohol in this."

"Why would that help."

She gave a small smile, "Because if I can taste it, I'll know what it is."

He raised an eyebrow, and then nodded, slowly, "Fair enough."

"Yes, it is. Now. Why are you here, Norman. What does he want."

He looked at her for a second, and then shook his head, "That talk is better left for when you've got a drink in your hand. Here."

Tony passed him the glass and he handed it to her. She paused, and then put the glass to her lips. She hesitated again before taking a sip. She put the glass down. She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly surprised, "Hobbe's Water and apple juice."

He nodded, "Yep. Reaver told me you like mixers. _And_ apples."

She looked at him for a moment, "I'm a vegetarian."

"Hmm. Thought you looked thin."

"I'm not _thin_."

He shrugged, "Fine, you're a troll."

Blade raised an eyebrow, "Wow, Norman, talk to _many_ women, do you?"

He smirked, deftly popping the lid off his bottle with a flick of his wrist, lifting it to his mouth, "Not as many as _Reaver_."

"Must we _always_ come back to talking about your _Lord_."

"I'm afraid we must, princess. Because, while _you_ may be here on pleasure, I'm _definitely_ here on business." He raised his bottle to her, "And I'm afraid I take my employer's view on business."

"Always be at least semi-drunk?"

"Exactly."

She gave a small, lopsided smile. Then she shook her head, "So. I ask again. What does he want."

"You." There was no hesitation.

She shook her head, scathingly, "He's gunna be waiting some time then."

"He wants to know more about you."

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm flattered. Why didn't he just _ask_."

"He _did_. You didn't answer."

"I answered every question he asked of me."

"No you didn't. He asked you about the blade you sent him and you didn't reply. He asked you if you needed his help and you diverted the question. He asked you why you were hunting down Fairfax and you kept the truth to yourself."

"I have reasons for that."

"And they are...?"

"My own."

He raised an eyebrow. Then he shook his head, taking a drink, "Reaver aint gunna like that."

"I don't care what _Reaver likes_."

He gave a small smirk, shaking his head, and raised his bottle once again. Blade echoed his movement, biting her top lip, unconsciously. Then she shook her head, "Get to the point, Norman. Do what you're here to do."

He looked at her for a second. Then he shook his head, "Your name's Jaina. Known as Blade. You're a Hero. People on the mainland know you - or know _of_ you. You're tracking Fairfax down for revenge. You want Reaver's help." He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, "Anything I'm missing out?"

"I grew up in the Bowerstone Gypsy camp, I'm a vegetarian, and I've told all this to Reaver before."

He nodded, "Yeah." There was a beat of silence, and then he shook his head, "And there's also _that_, of course..." his eyes moved down to the bar, and Blade followed his gaze before realising he was looking at her wedding ring. She looked back up at him, and he raised his eyebrows again, "What's his name."

She stiffened, "None of your goddamned business. And none of your _Lord's_, _either_."

"You know he'll find him, princess." He said, impassively, "And you know he won't be happy when he does."

She gave a bark of a laugh, "Anyone who goes after my family looking for trouble has gotta have a death wish."

He nodded, slowly, "Family. You have children, then?"

Her anger sparked and she slammed her glass back on the table, turning on him, "You threaten my family and you'll _wish_ I'd killed you. Understood?"

Norman just raised an eyebrow, "Is _Lucien_ wishing you'd killed him?"

She looked at him for a second, "If he isn't now, he soon will be."

"Who'd _he_ kill?"

"Again - none of your business." She picked her glass up and took a sip. She paused for a moment. Then she shook her head, "Reaver wouldn't _dare_ come after my family."

"Then you obviously don't know him as well as I do." She looked at him for a second, and he shrugged, casually, "Reaver's no coward. Nothing _like_ it. If someone's in his way... they won't be for long."

"I'd protect my family with my life. I'd _die_ for them, understood?"

"There's no need for that. There's no need for _any_ lives to be taken." He shook his head, "Look. You've met Reaver. What did you think of him."

"I thought he was an arrogant, chauvinistic, deceitful, murdering scoundrel with nothing on his mind other than sex, alcohol and money, and I told him that myself."

"Well, if there's one thing he _doesn't_ have it's a high attention span. He's only gunna put a hit on your family if he's particularly motivated to. So, my advice? Don't give him a reason."

"Otherwise known as being a good little girl and doing what I'm told."

"You got it, princess. There's nothing Reaver likes more than an obedient sweetie like you."

She drained the rest of her glass, placing it back on the table, "No way. I'm not doing it. I _won't_."

"Then you've got to _choose_, _haven't_ you, princess. Your pride or his help."

"It's not just _pride_. But you wouldn't understand that, of course."

"The... _physicality_... will fade."

"Yeah. I've no doubt it will. But it's not the _physical_ side I'm worried about."

Norman gave a small, lopsided smile, "I guess not."

Blade shook her head. She turned on her chair, facing the bar slightly, throwing out for something else to fix her attention onto. There were raised voices outside, not at fight volume yet, but she could tell they were getting there. The guy who had sat next to her was now sat at a table on his own, face buried in a pint of bitter. A patron a few tables down from them spat into a drink before handing it to the girl next to him.

"Why are you hunting Fairfax."

She raised an eyebrow, "Why would you think I'd give you a different answer than what I gave your master?"

He shrugged, "Because you've got a drink in your hand and I'm not looking to fuck you."

The crassness of his language would once have shocked her. Now she just shook her head, "Go find out for yourself. It won't take you long. I think pretty much everyone in _Albion_ knows my story by now."

"Their curiosity irritates you?"

She shrugged, indifferently, "Sometimes. I've gotten used to it."

The fight outside grew louder, and Blade shook her head, trying to concentrate on what the man next to her was saying, "Sorry?"

He raised his voice a little: "I said why d'you do what you do if you hate it so much."

She shook her head, vaguely, only just listening, "I just... it's something I just..." she trailed off, frowning slightly. She was listening avidly to the raised voices, the noises outside.

She vaguely felt Norman put a hand on her arm, "Princess, are you -"

"Wait. Wait wait wait shh. Listen. That's... that's a _Bowerstone_ accent."

He frowned, "So? Maybe it's a trader."

"No. Traders don't _have_ accents, they never stay in one place long enough to _get_ an accent. So who the hell's that."

She paused for a moment, thinking, and then fluidly got to her feet, walking quickly over to the door, pushing it open.

* * *

"Hey! Leave him the hell alone!"

Blade dragged the two bandits away, shoving one into a fence and grabbing the other by the collar and yanking him back towards her.

The first quickly got to his feet, moving swiftly towards her.

She drew her pistol, holding it to his head, "_Back_ off." She cocked it, deftly, "_Now_."

The guy hesitated. He glanced at his mate, who shook his head, slowly, still held firmly in place by Blade's chokehold. He paused for a moment, and then nodded, slowly, backing away.

Blade shoved the other towards him, ferociously, "Get the hell out of here."

They retreated, slowly, glaring at her. She waited until they were out of sight, and then helped the other man off the ground, "Hey. You alright?"

He brushed himself off, looking up at her rather embarrassedly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Uh, thanks."

"Any time."

The man nodded, and then frowned at her, "Wait a second. You're Blade, aren't you."

She smiled, "Yeah. You're from Bowerstone?"

"Yeah, I was sent to find you."

"Me? Why?"

He gestured with his head at the large bag on his back, "Letter for ya. Just a messenger."

She paused for a second. Norman was standing behind her, watching them, frowning. She shook her head, "What is it, who's it from."

"Dunno. Haven't read it." The messenger pulled a small scroll out of his pocket, "Dear Chosen One -"

Blade winced and immediately held up a hand, "Okay, that's enough, let's see it."

Norman raised an eyebrow, "_Chosen One_?" he repeated, scathingly.

She shook her head, a little self-conscious herself, "I did the Temple of Light a few favours a while back, saved them from destruction, donated a bit of gold to get them back on their feet. They took it a little seriously."

She took the letter and glanced down at the closing script. Timothy Lightjoy. Father Lightjoy. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "I've told him so many times not to call me that..." She sped-read the note, frowning slightly. Then she glanced up, "When did you get this."

"A few days ago. I got a carriage to Westcliff, and then went by ship to the quay. I got here as soon as I could."

"No, I know that, it's fine. I'm just..." she hesitated, eyeing the lettering again, warily. Then she noticed Norman was still watching her, and she shook her head, adjusting the strap of her pack on her shoulder, "Tell your Lord I have things to do. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He raised an eyebrow, "He won't take that well."

"I couldn't care less. Tell him to take my word when I say this is important."

"He won't take _that_ well, _either_."

"And, as previously mentioned, I don't care." She turned back to the messenger, "C'mon. Let's get moving. Get your ass back in that pub, Norman, and don't let me catch you following us. Understood?"

He nodded, slowly, "Sure thing, princess. See you later."

"Sure. Boy, come on, let's go."

* * *

Norman waited for a few moments before sidling out of the bar, heading down the path they had taken. He caught up with them near the bottom of the hill, stopped in a closed shop doorway, having what looked like quite a frantic conversation.

"D'you have any idea _why_?"

The messenger shook his head, "No, sorry. Not at all. The Abbot just... told me to find you."

"And she approached _him_?"

"You're well known around Albion, _especially_ around Oakfield. She must have figured that if anyone knew where to find you, it'd be the Temple."

"That makes no sense whatsoever. Boy, _quit_ that. How _did_ Lightjoy find me."

He hesitated, and then shook his head, slowly, "We asked Michael."

That seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. A flash of anger moved over her face, "You _what_?!"

"Look, we had no other -"

"You _know_ the ground rules on this, Harper. And he's one of them. Just stay the hell away from them, understood?"

Harper hesitated again, and then nodded, "Okay. Alright."

Princess shook her head, slowly, "Avo. It's like you lot are my goddamned _stalkers_." He gave a small smile, and she shook her head again, "Spade... the name rings a bell. And last heard in Wraithmarsh?"

"That's what she heard, ma'am."

"That name _really_ rings a bell... Avo, who _is_ she..."

"I don't know."

She paused, thinking. Then she looked up, "Will you see him? Michael? When you go back?"

"I could pop in, if you want."

She nodded, "Give him this." She dug in her pocket for a moment, and then pulled out a small brown feather. Norman frowned, but the messenger seemed to understand perfectly.

He nodded, tucking the feather away safely in his waistcoat inside pocket, "Listen, Spa-"

She pressed a hand over his mouth, lightning fast, "Don't call me that, not here." She glanced around her, and then shook her head, "Look, we can't talk here. C'mon, let's go. I'll walk you back to the quay. In case those idiots from the bar decided to follow us. Let's go."

Norman watched them leave, walking swiftly down the cobbled hill. The Temple of Light, looking for Reaver's little princess... Interesting... Reaver would be pleased with that information.

And _Michael_... the one she seemed to get so angry with them talking to... It was something to think about.

Norman shook his head. He still had a lot to find out. And seeing the people in this hell hole barely knew her _name_, he was going to have to go further ashore. And with whatever evil the young Hero was hunting down in Wraithmarsh... he figured he had time.

* * *


	8. Fun and Games in Wraithmarsh

**Fun and Games in Wraithmarsh**

Blade adjusted her grip on her hilt. Back into Wraithmarsh. Fantastic. Like she hadn't seen enough of that place to last her a lifetime...

So. Situation. Two young men, wannabe Heroes, had somehow managed to find themselves a way into Wraithmarsh. Avo knew _how_, they didn't come in through Bloodstone and though theoretically there should be a path from Brightwood there _wasn't_, so, unless they went by Cullis Gate, there was no way of getting into Wraithmarsh she could think of that two boys would be able to use. Their mother was going spare, apparently, and had gone to the Temple of Light for assistance. The Abbot had put Mrs Spade on to _her_.

So now it was a game of bloody hide-and-seek through miles and miles of open, empty swampland, with no life and yet hundreds of predators.

'Life', Blade had learnt, was a subjective term.

She didn't move, her feet still planted firmly at the bottom of Bloodstone Hill, opposite the underground entrance to the marshes, her mind screaming at her to move but her body completely ignoring her. She knew she didn't want to step foot in that place again. Even _Bloodstone_ seemed favourable to that dark, soulless nightmare. She buttoned her coat right up to her neck, and slipped on a pair of black fingerless gloves, distaste and reluctance running through her mind like fire.

_I don't want to go there I don't want to go there I don't want to go there..._

She shook her head, firmly. Ridiculous. Pathetic. She'd faced Hollow Men before, _plenty_ of them, and even the _troll_ was easily prey to her golden crossbow. She'd adorned her belt with a rarely-used blunderbuss, the Enforcer, an old weapon of Giles', entrusted to her after she bought his farm. The powerful, blazing weapon was not the type of gun that she favoured, but she knew that nothing would do better against a horde of Hollow Men.

But what worried her about that place wasn't the enemies. It was the _feel_ of it. All around you. Death. So close you could almost _taste_ it.

She shivered, and then suppressed it, firmly. She glanced down at her yellow lab, smiling slightly as she caught him staring at her, expectantly, his expression saying '_Well_...?'

Blade shook her head again, fondly, and then pulled the coat down from the strap of her bag.

Along with the letter, Mrs Spade had sent a belonging of one of the sons, as the Temple had told her to, and it was a cuffed, navy coat. A cuffed, navy coat that she _knew_ she recognised from somewhere.

She shook her head, ridding herself of the ever prevalent feeling of déjà vu, and then knelt down, handing the cloth to Boy, "Come on, honey. What we got here, hey? Hey? We gunna go find ourselves some people in Wraithmarsh? Hey?"

The dog sniffed the coat, lapping his tongue against it for a moment. Then he glanced up at her, cocking his head slightly to one side.

She looked straight back at him, just as expectant, "Well? Come on! Fetch! Let's go find them!"

She got back to her feet and he twitched, lowering himself down close to the ground, eyes fixed on her, his body completely stiff, waiting.

Blade sighed and shook her head, rummaging around in a pocket, "Hell, Boy, you do nothing for free, _do_ you?"

She found a treat, and, balancing it on her thumb like you would a coin, she flicked it up in the air. Boy jumped and caught it, deftly, and soon had crunched it down. He licked his muzzle and then ran in a circle for a bit, chasing his tail.

She raised an eyebrow, "Well? Are you ready now? Sorry, am I rushing you?"

He barked in response. Then he pushed his nose to the ground and started sniffing. He yapped again, and then took off at a sprint towards Wraithmarsh.

Blade sighed again. Then she ran after him.

* * *

Cold seeped easily through Blade's thick clothing, and she forced herself not to shiver. The fog was thick around her, and the lamp she had lit and attached to her pack only just penetrated its gloom. Boy, though slowed in his step now they had entered this hell, was still ploughing on, and she fought to keep him in sight.

They had been hunting round Wraithmarsh for some time now. The practical side of her mind said it had probably been around thirteen to fourteen hours, but it felt to her more _days_ than hours. Everything was silent. The crunch and squelch of her feet on the marshy ground was far too loud in the quiet, and her heavy breathing was very audible. Boy gave a low mutter and she twitched, and then shook her head. Her nerves were shot, her whole body wired. Blade licked her lips, continuing her pace. She didn't realise for a few minutes that she was humming. When she did, she wasn't surprised at all when she figured out what it was.

_Down by the reeds, down by the reeds... swim the Sirens of Oakvale, out to the seas..._

The wind hissed around her, and Boy gave out a low, predatory growl. Blade immediately drew her sword, eyes cautiously scanning the fog around her.

_Down by the reeds, down by the reeds float the souls left unbroken by white balverines._

She couldn't see a thing. Just fog.

She glanced down. Boy had his hackles raised, teeth bared, snarling and snapping at the fog. She followed his gaze, and saw nothing. Either way, she kept her blade pointed towards the mist, "What you found, eh, Boy. What's over there."

He barked, sharp, loud yaps, and then took off into the fog.

"Whoa, _wait_!" she ran off after him, almost stumbling, the ground beneath her feet treacherous, "_Boy_!"

His barks faded into silence, and her heart throbbed. She spun around, looking almost desperately around her. She had no idea where she was. She swore under her breath, frantically, and then forced herself to calm. The only sound was her pounding heart, and the slight slosh of water at her feet.

"Where'd you go, Boy." She muttered, shaking her head, taking a few hesitant steps into the fog. A screech echoed behind her and she span on her heel, holding out her Daichi, her heart slamming her chest, her breathing hectic.

"Shit." she muttered, tensely, biting down on her lip so hard blood spilled into her mouth, "_Shit_!"

_Down by the reeds night blooming weeds embrace those who go dancing in sad moonlit dreams._

Avo, she was shaking. She could feel it right the way to the bones. How long had she been a fighter? All her life. Nothing compared to this. There was something in the air. Evil.

_Down by the reeds, a twisted path leads to banshees who breathe out a cold winter's breeze._

"_Boy_." She hissed, taking a few steps more, "Where the hell _are_ you?! What by _Skorm_ is going on!"

There was no reply, the space around her stayed deathly silent. She could feel herself bordering the edge of a breakdown, but any attempts to calm herself were to no avail. Something moved behind her and she jerked round. She watched the milky-white fog for a second, reaching slowly down to her holster and flicking the safety off the blunderbuss. Time for its christening.

_Nobody knows, nobody sees... the Sirens of Oakvale... down by the reeds._

Hands grabbed her shoulders and she span, striking out with her sword without thinking. She sliced straight through the Hollow Man's head, and, as Hollow Men do, it kept coming. Blade stumbled back a few steps, getting away from the many undead, yanking with one hand at the gun in her holster but she was fumbling with the clasp, it was stuck. She abandoned the gun as a rotting corpse got within clawing distance, and she smashed it back with her sword, driving the blade deep into the chest and wrenching it right the way up through its head.

A hand groped at her ankle and she yanked her foot away. She stomped on it, ferociously, smashing it into dust, her hand finally managing to wrench the Enforcer from her belt.

She cocked it and fired, obliterating the bodies in front of her back into dust. She span round, catching some more, the spray of bullets smashing into tens of corpses, shattering old, dry bones. The weapon was heavy, and she grinded her teeth as she pumped the fore end with one hand and sent a fireball flying out with the other. Dusty rags immediately caught, and she was now onset by _fiery_ undead abominations.

Blade shook her head, letting out a small snarl of frustration, stumbling back, away from them. She shot out again and again, and glanced quickly over her shoulder, retreating further and further. Then the back of her ankle caught on a wizened tree root, and, before she knew it, she was down.

* * *

Her elbows collided painfully with the ground and, for a moment, her head sunk completely under the marsh. Blade yanked herself upright, pulling in a shallow gasp of air, coughing, filthy quagmire streaming off her. She dragged out her crossbow, firing as quickly as the repeater would allow, the weapon giving loud, hollow clunks as thick bolts flew towards their targets, pinning them back. Her heart pounded, her breathing rough and ragged in her chest, their added height and her sudden disadvantage sending fear flooding through her brain. She shot fast, aiming for headshots, just something to keep them away from her, slicing out with her sword when any got too close, hacking apart old, dusty bones.

Hands clawed at her and one was on top of her, mutilated flesh peeling on contact, broken, splintered fingernails ripping at the skin on her neck. Blade gagged, turning her head, the horrific stench of putrid flesh filling her senses, and scrabbled at the hands that held her to the ground. The thing tightened its grip, forcing her down further, and she fought with its grip, her eyes flew down to her Daichi, but it was too far, and to reach for it would be to stop fighting the grip on her shoulders, stop fighting the thing on top of her, and she couldn't do it, she just _couldn't_.

The Hollow Man leaned down closer to her and Blade choked again, trying to wrench herself back. Its face was a mass of burns and blisters, bits of skin were falling off all over its head and it had chunks missing from its eyes, maggots worming through its flesh, eating their way through its half-empty eye sockets. Oh Avo, that _smell_, like mould, like a garbage pit, stinging at the back of her throat, behind her eyes, decay and death, and the others, the others who had felt the brunt of her Will, fire and heat singing across her eyes, like a slaughterhouse, the nauseating smell of burning, dusty flesh, like a barbecue, like an abattoir, hanging on the air.

The hands moved up, to her neck, pushing her down. She felt the scummy water rise up her cheeks and immediately struggled with all her might, fighting ferociously against the thing's death grip, jerking her head violently from side to side.

Water spilled over her mouth and she recoiled, choked, spitting it out, jerking. Noises around her dulled as water flooded her ears. The Hollow Man slid its decaying hand up her neck, forcing her head backwards, tightening its grip until she had to cough for breath, marsh water joining air, stinging at her lungs. It pushed down further, and her mouth disappeared under the mud. She squeezed her eyes shut and jerked herself up, dragging in a sharp, rough breath. She spluttered and then was forced back under the water again. Pain stabbed through her lungs, her chest, and all she could hear was her heart pounding in her temples.

_Avo, I can't breathe. I can't breathe can't breathe can't -_

Another choked breath. She let go of the scabbed hands and groped for a weapon, her crossbow, her Daichi, the Enforcer, something to get the hands off her, _any_thing. She couldn't reach, and she was pushed down again. The corpse adjusted its grip, pushing down fully on her neck. She went completely under the water, and any little availability of oxygen that she once had was immediately extinguished. She thrashed, pulling, yanking, trying desperately to get away. She was drowning. Her lungs started to burn, she needed to breathe but she couldn't but she needed to breathe _right fucking now_!

_Get off, get off, get off, GET __**OFF**__!_ Her mind ran, frantically. She was starting to feel dizzy, the lack of oxygen getting to her already.

_You have to breathe!_ She told herself, _If you don't, you will __**die**__, do you hear me? You __**have to breathe**__!_

The thought pierced through her mind. Her survival instinct kicked in hard. She fumbled, reaching down, tearing at her holster. She felt her hand brush something metal. She couldn't breathe. She yanked, jerking the metal handle, wrenching at it. She barely knew what she was holding. She was drowning. She finally succeeded in getting the metal out the holster. She drew it, forcing it up out of the marsh, not being able to see where she was aiming. The world stopped still. Then she pulled the trigger.

* * *

Blade heard the boom of the pistol even under the water. Something fell on her, pinning her down even further, a dead weight. Desperately, she fought, struggled, pushed her way out from under the weight, shaking uncontrollably, and then burst out of the water.

Blade dragged in a huge breath of air, coughing and choking, trying to stay above the water, her lungs seizing at the sudden availability of oxygen. She dragged in breath after breath of air, barely noticing the chill of it now. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and retched, coughing and spluttering into the marsh below her. She raised a shaking hand to her face and wiped wet mud off her cheek, her short hair hanging lank and wet, sticking to her skin.

There was a low, quiet whine, and Boy was nuzzling against her hand, licking her. His round brown eyes caught hers, scared and apologetic. She shook her head at him, "I don't know why I keep you." She managed to throw out a hand to his head, ruffling the fur behind his ears, still not quite over the adrenaline rush, "Scaredy-cat. Come on."

She staggered to her feet. The lamp she had attached to her back had smashed on the floor. She cursed under her breath, and then grabbed a bottle of water from her bag, taking a sip and swilling it around her mouth before spitting it out on the floor. She held the jacket to the dog's nose again, hoping the scent hadn't been too contaminated by her tumble into the marsh, "_Come_ on, Boy. _Come_ on. Let's go fetch, yeah? Let's go fetch."

This time her beloved animal pushed his nose straight to the jacket, desperate to please after his unusual show of cowardice, and barked, tearing off after a familiar scent. This time Blade stayed right on his heel, no intent in losing him again.

Finally they found a well, a large, wide well with a rickety ladder leading down into the dark. The clearing was dark and misty, and the grass was overgrown, almost covering the rough stone that encircled the font.

Blade hesitated, glancing down into the dark, her eyes moving cautiously over the dubiously safe ladder. She glanced at her lab, "You gunna be able to jump down that far, Boy? I aint carrying you." He cocked his head to one side, and she shook her head, firmly, "I'm not. I'm _not_! _Come_ on, I am _not carrying you_."

She hesitated, and then sighed. Then she knelt down, pulling the big yellow Labrador towards her, "I'm gunna regret this..."

* * *

The fireball she threw hit a Hollow Man straight in the back, and it turned, wildly, the others around it catching alight. She threw out a wall of fire, grimacing at the horrifically familiar smell of burning flesh, but keeping her Will strong, throwing all she had at them. Abruptly, she called it off, and watched as the corpses returned to ashes.

She paused, and then hoisted Boy down from her shoulder, wincing. She narrowed her eyes slightly against the still-continuing blaze. She was sure she'd heard voices, panicking, _human_. She took a few steps forwards, "Hello? Anyone there?"

There was a clunk, a shuffle, and then a "_Shh_!"

She gave a grim smile, shaking her head, "I know you're down here, guys. Why else would the Hollow Men be so interested in a giant great well? C'mon, I'm here to take you home."

"You... you killed all the Hollow Men?"

She paused for a second. She recognised that voice... "Yeah, they're all dead. Well. All... _gone_. Come on, it's safe, I promise. I'll look after you."

"Oh Avo, _thank_you!" Two bedraggled looking boys slunk out into her view.

Surprise came in a shock as recognition rushed over her. She raised an eyebrow, looking at them for a moment, sceptically. Then she shook her head, "Spade. I knew I recognised the name. Sam and Max Spade. Typical. Bloody _typical_. Of all the people in Albion I just _have_ to meet _you_ idiots _twice_."

Sam - or maybe Max, who knows - stood forwards, frowning, "Say, do we know you? You looked awful familiar fighting Hollow Men."

"I bet I goddamned did." She took a few more steps into the light.

The boy gasped, and then turned a very deep shade of red, "Oh, Sparrow! G-...good to see you again!"

She shook her head, wearily, "What the hell are you two doing out here. Are you _trying_ to get yourselves killed?"

Max - or Sam - took a step towards her, "No, ma'am, we're just... _exploring_."

"_Exploring_?! This is _Wraithmarsh_, you stupid kid!" she hesitated, and then sighed, forcefully calming her anger, "You don't... _explore_... _Wraithmarsh_. You just... _don't_."

"_You_ do." He pointed out.

"Are you _kidding_ me? Do you really think I _want_ to be here? I'm out here looking for _you_! I got a bloody letter from your _mother_."

The first noticeably paled, "Mother... mother knows we're here?"

"Of _course_ she does, she's your _mother_. Seriously, you two, cemeteries, tombs, I suppose it was only a matter of _time_ before you two idiots wound up _here_. How _did_ you get here."

Max shuffled, awkwardly, "We... we found an incantation from -"

"From the Normanomicon." She completed, shaking her head, "I thought you were going to get _rid_ of that!"

"Well... we were... and then we... sort of..."

"Didn't." the other completed, wincing slightly.

Blade swore, violently. She turned her back for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to cool her temper. Then she turned back round, "You guys are idiots. Absolute _idiots_. Do you know that?"

"Hey, you're out killing things more than _we_ are."

"That's because I know what I'm _doing_! _You_ two - you're worse than goddamned _nymphs_, wherever you _go_ you raise the dead! You almost got me _killed_! The Tomb of Heroes, you remember it? Your goddamned curse nearly got me _killed_ by _ten hundred Hollow Men_! And _look_ at you! No _armour_, no _weapons_, no _Will_ ability, you could have been _killed_! What d'you have to say for yourselves?!"

Sam looked at her for a second, "Sorry?" he tried, hesitantly.

"_Really_ sorry." Max added, fervently.

Blade looked at them for a moment. Then she shook her head, wearily, "Like I said. _Idiots_. Come on. Let's get out of here and back to your mother. The important thing... is that you're safe. And it's over."

"Well... not... not _quite_."

She turned back, slowly, fixing the boy with a stare. "What." She asked, after a moment.

Max shifted, looking more and more uncomfortable. Then he turned to his sibling, "Go on, _tell_ her."

"No, _you_ tell her!"

Blade looked at them, slowly. "Tell me _what_." Her voice was a low, dark growl.

The kids had the decency and slight intelligence needed to look very, very scared, "Err... the thing is... we... we found this cave but we kind of..."

"Yes?"

"Kind of... accidentally released a pretty nasty banshee."

Her heart stopped. "You _what_."

Sam shook his head, scared, "It's probably tearing up Bloodstone by now, slaughtering everything in its path!"

"A... a _banshee_?" She looked at them for a moment, willing them to say it was a joke, a sick, sick joke. Neither said a word. She gave a small laugh, void of any sort of amusement, "A banshee. Seriously, a goddamned _banshee_? Couldn't it have been Hollow Men again, or even a troll, or _balverines_, or, hell, _shadows_, _any_thing but this, do you have _any_ _idea_ how much I _hate_ _fricking banshees_?!"

Max moved over to her, swiftly, pleading, "You _have_ to kill it, _please_! If _mother_ finds _out_..."

"She'll have to wait in line." Blade muttered, darkly. Then she shook her head, doing her deep, calm breathing again, "Okay. Right. Now. When you say... _pretty nasty_... how nasty is _that_, exactly."

Neither of the boys responded. Probably the wisest move they'd ever made.

She grinded her teeth, "Right. You two are coming with _me_."

Sam immediately shook his head, "No _way_ I'm going anywhere _near_ that thing!"

"_Listen_ to me, you absolute idiotic _stupid_ little kid. The safest place in all of Albion right now is with _me_. 'Cause if that banshee gets you and tears you into a hundred tiny pieces then _I_ don't get _my_ turn. Understood?"

He brightened, "Yes." Then his face fell, "Wait... what?"

She shook her head and turned back to the ladder. She clicked her fingers, and Boy bounded over to her, and she lifted the heavy dog laboriously onto her strongest shoulder.

"By the way..." she turned back, fixing a raised eyebrow on the one stupid enough to speak. Sam shook his head, hesitantly, and then nodded at her, "What happened to _you_? You look like... like..."

"Like I've spent a day tramping through marshes to then be attacked by Hollow Men pushed down into the swamp and nearly drowned?" she shook her head, dryly, "Well. What a coincidence."

* * *


	9. Silence

**Silence**

Blade was shaking. She couldn't stop herself. She kept the shivers down as far as she could, hiding them from the people in front of her. They had enough on their plate without seeing her fear. The Leper's Arms was unusually quiet, though still as cramped. Chairs and two tables were braced up against the door, barricading it shut, and, though it was pitch black, the lamps were all extinguished except one. She sat by the low light, steadily wrapping thick pieces of cloth around her legs, her trouser legs rolled up to her knees.

Max, who had so far managed to keep his mouth shut, finally broke. He nodded at the binds, timidly, "What... what're those for."

She didn't look at him, "A little extra protection. Banshees never fight alone. They conjure... _others_. Small ones. Tiny little blades, but enough to keep you distracted so the mother can go for you. Last time I got hit by a banshee the only thing that really got torn up were my legs."

_And my mind_. She added, silently.

"So you've... faced banshees before?" Roxa asked, her voice hushed.

Blade hesitated, "Once."

"_Once_?"

"I'll be fine. Just stay here and keep quiet. I'll keep its attention on me."

A high shriek echoed outside. The whole room flinched. Blade didn't. The occupants were staring at her, and she was purposefully ignoring each gaze. Roxa, who had found her almost the second she had entered Bloodstone, hesitated, and then moved forwards, helping her with the binds. Blade nodded her thanks, and licked her lip, unconsciously.

When they were finished, Blade rolled down her trousers, slowly. It felt like her heart was shaking. She took in a long, slow breath. Then she got to her feet. She shrugged off her pack, taking out potions and filling her pockets with them. She dropped the Enforcer and one of her holsters, going for speed rather than strength, keeping only the Daichi, the crossbow, and the small clockwork pistol. She did up her coat's ties, carefully, making sure everything was pulled tight. Then her eyes glimmered onto the door.

Roxa looked at her, "Are you... are you going to be okay?"

Blade shrugged, dismissively, "Of _course_ I am. I just need to concentrate. This bitch is nothing but a lie. I know that."

_Don't_ you.

She shook her head, and moved quickly over to the door, pulling back the blockade with a Hero's ease. Then she turned back to Roxa, "When I get outside, put this back up again. Don't open it, not for anything, hear me? Even if it's me. _Especially_ if it's me. No matter what you hear. The banshee will try and trick you, fool you into thinking it's something it's not. You can't listen to it. No matter what you hear, do _not open this door_."

"But then how will _you_ get back in?" she asked, nervously.

Her lip quirked in a half-smile, "Oh, don't worry about _that_. I'll get in if I need to. I can get in _anywhere_ if I need to." She glanced down, once again checking her weapons, "Max, Sam, stay with Roxa, okay?"

"You want us to look after her?" Max asked, getting to his feet.

She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, "Look after _her_? _She's_ looking after _you_. Here, Roxa, take this pistol. It's all loaded, just point and pull. When this thing's over, get them on the first ship to Bowerstone. Go to The Cow and Corset, your mother'll meet you there. And, Roxa, look after Boy. He'll protect you, if it comes to it."

Boy gave a low whine, and she turned to him, "Honey, I'm sorry, you'll only have to be around these idiots for a _little_ while, okay? I'll be right back, I promise. And, as for the rest of you..." she looked around the crowded bar full of white faces. She hesitated, and then shook her head, "Stay down. Stay quiet. Do _not_ open this door." She turned, clicking out her knuckles, "I'll be back with that thing's head. I assure you."

"Sparrow!"

She turned, glancing at the hand on her arm, and then follow it up to the owner. Sam hesitated, and then shook his head, "Be careful."

She looked at him, and managed a small smile, "I'll be fine, Sam. Sit tight."

She put her hand on the handle, hesitated from one last second, taking in a deep breath, and then stepped outside.

* * *

Blade still shook. The air was so cold it hurt her lungs. She could see her breath in front of her face, clouding the air. She shook, violently, and when she licked her lips the moisture froze against her skin. She couldn't see. She hesitated, and then made her way very slowly along the dock, taking it one step at a time.

A loud hiss echoed around her, a death rattle, and she firmly ignored it, grip firm on her Daichi, continuing up the path. A series of strange cracks followed her, like wood splintering, and a slight frown crossed her features. She glanced down, and her breathing stopped for a moment. The water beside her was freezing, ice spreading, the whole harbour freezing solid. Her heart pounded in her throat.

A low, husky laugh bounced off the boats around her. Blade kept walking, her grip so tight it hurt, her senses alert for the slightest sign of movement. Fog thickened around her, and she paused for a moment. The lamp attached to the bottom of her shoulder holster flickered and died. Blade stayed very still.

"So... what do we have _here_..."

She shivered, reflexively. The voice was a long, low hiss, like a whisper of wind, the rattle of dead leaves. She bit her lip, forcing herself to be strong.

"This one is _familiar_... Now... what gift has come to us... To _hunt_ us, yes?"

Fog swirled around her, and she glanced back over her shoulder at it, taking a few quick steps forwards as she felt the cold stroke along her back.

"Ah. Ah yes... I remember... So, it comes to us again, does it. This... _little lost Hero_..."

"Where are you." She called, in a voice much braver than she felt, "Come out. Let us finish this."

"Oh, I think not, little Hero. _Leave_, little Hero. You know you cannot defeat us."

Her foot hit something, and she glanced down. A fresh corpse lay at her feet, a young girl, dressed in black, deep, savage wounds hacked into her flesh. Blade couldn't tell if she was real or the beginning of the banshee's torment. Either way, she stepped over her, carefully, and continued up the pier, "You think I can't?"

"You think you _can_?"

"Then prove me wrong. Come out. Come out and prove me wrong."

"You think you can defeat us when even the _cold_ is catching you?"

Blade was shaking. She knew that. Shaking uncontrollably, her muscles stiff, he teeth clenched. There was something dead inside her, spreading, an icy brush going through her body. This was a cold nothing could kill. She passed another body, blood frozen in a pool around him, and, again, she moved on past it with no reaction.

"Well." She managed, in a good impression of flippancy, "It _is_ slightly on the chilly side, now you mention it."

The thing laughed, a cold, cruel sound that faded like wind. Blade felt the beasts behind her before she heard them, and she spun round, sending out a wave of fire, calling her Will to her, torching the small devils. The rush of heat sent a glimmer of strength through her, as did the knowledge that the banshee's attack had been unsuccessful. She listened to the thing's tortured screams without emotion.

"My children! You would destroy my children? They will bring you down to the earth!"

More, again behind her. She spun, shooting out with her crossbow, taking them to the ground before they dissolved into smoke.

"Coward! Come face me yourself!"

The banshee laughed, and faded into silence. Blade paused, her senses going mad, trying to figure out where she had gone. She took a few more cautious steps, following the pier once again.

"Murderer."

She spun on her heel, spearing a shadow with her sword as it leapt at her, taking out another with a single pull of the trigger. A sword slashed at her legs and she gave a snarl of pain and anger, throwing out a wall of Will to knock the things back.

"You are just a murderer. And I've seen where murderers like you go, little Hero. And you think it's cold _here_... Why do you think you continue to cheat death? Not even _oblivion_ wants you."

"I am not a murderer. I don't kill if I can avoid it."

"Is that so?"

She shook her head, fighting ferociously, "Open your eyes! Who have I killed that I haven't had to!"

"_Haven't_ _had to_," she mocked, "Who are _you_ to deem who should and should not die? Lucien?"

Anger burned through her and her next swing was twice as savage, "I am _nothing_ like him!"

"You kill without prejudice, without care... you are _just_ like him. All those Hobbes you kill, don't you know that they're only little children? Little children who have had their souls devoured by dark nymphs?"

Blade shook her head, frustrated, getting the nightmare hollow reference immediately, "There's nothing I can do for them."

"Except _murder_ them, of course. That poor little child..."

Her heart quaked. She remembered that time in the Hobbe cave, all those years ago, with Herman, she still remembered his name. And his son. Joey. Oh Avo, his son... Herman had screamed, and she'd ran to his aid, a young, puppy-like Boy bouncing along at her side. She'd seen a Hobbe attacking him, and gone straight with her instinct. Her _Hero's instinct_. Joey. Oh, Joey. That was one of the worst moments of her life. Guilt and pain and horror. _Eating_ at her.

"You're a _murderer_, Hero. A _child killer_. Just like me." She paused, and then gave a short laugh, her voice a low, silky purr, "Your daughter was so sweet. Tasted like honey when I visited her last night. She called out your name as she died."

Though she shook at the thought, she brought up fierce anger to overcome it, "Really? _What_ name? Blade? Hero? You don't _know_ my real name, do you? You can't trick me, witch."

"Little Rose Marie... such a sweet name... and not a first-hand one, either. Now who was the original..."

"Stop it." She growled, "You're not gunna get me _that_ way."

"Oh, little Sparrow... are you so sure of that?"

She shook her head. Anger was building and building inside of her, but she could feel the trepidation too. She knew what the monster was going to go onto next.

"You still hear Rose's death cry when you try to sleep at night, don't you?" she asked, proving Blade right.

She shook her head, feeling tears threaten at her eyes, and viciously struck the head from one of the shadow children. She did. Oh, Avo, she did. Not every night, it had died down a lot since that day, but now instead it would strike out at her when she was unaware and she would go through it all again, the long walk to the study, Fairfax's light humour, stepping into that circle, him drawing that damned pistol.

"This wasn't what I wanted." The thing mocked, viciously, her voice a double of Lucien's, "But _nothing_ must stand in my way."

_No, __**wait**__! Don't! __**NO**__!_

A gunshot rang through the air and she flinched back, violently, her heart missing more than a few beats. The banshee laughed, coldly.

Blade shook her head. Anger. She pulled it up, dragged it into existence, let it fill her and power her. She kept fighting, putting more anger into her swing than she'd ever known she had, anger so hot it scared her, a new sense of purpose in her strike.

"Did you know Rose didn't die straight away from that shot?"

* * *

That stopped her in her tracks. She hesitated, and then a shadow got in a swing that sliced straight through the cloth on her thigh and she cursed, viciously, taking them on again, "You're a goddamned liar!"

"No."

"I was there! I _saw_ her! She was _dead_, she stopped breathing!"

"_No_. She still lived. She watched you fall through that window -"

"No."

"Heard as your body thudded against the ground -"

"_No_."

"And cried _bitter tears _before a final shot from Lucien ended her life."

Pain and fury burst inside her, "You're a _liar_! She was _dead_! I _saw_ her _die_!"

"And Lucien _relished_ it. Did you know that, _'Hero'_. He _savoured_ your pain, your _sister's_ pain. He laughs every night as he remembers that time in his study. He still keeps the gun with which he shot you and your sister. A _souvenir_."

Anger pumped through her so hot she could barely stand it, and with one swipe she decapitated the last of the minions and continued on into the fog, "You think this information will break me? It only serves to power me more! I will _find_ him, and he will _die_ by my hand. But not before _you_."

She laughed, coldly, "Dear little Sparrow, how _vengeful_! How hatred _taints_ your speech, how _vile_ your existence has become. What would little Rose say if she could see you now... Do you think she would be proud? Do you think she would recognise the _creature_ you've become?"

That cut deep. She shook her head, slowly, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, unconsciously continuing, "I... I'm... doing this _for_ her. This is all... _for_ her."

"Murder?" the voice asked, silkily, "Deceit? Harden your heart, turn into a killer?" there was a pause, and she could sense a cold smile, "You think that's what Rose would have wanted?"

Tears slid down her cheeks, surprising even herself. She shook her head, and went to brush them away, fiercely. They had frozen on her skin.

"What _would_ Rose have wanted, little Sparrow. Surely not this. So much death. So much pain. Would she rather have been just laid to rest?"

"Perhaps she would. But _I_ cannot rest until I have killed him. Until I have avenged my sister."

"But would she have _wanted_ to be avenged. Perhaps... perhaps she cared more about _you_, little Sparrow. You read her diary, yes? All she cared about was you. She wanted you to live your life. And you have spent your life taking the lives of others."

She shook her head again, taking another step, "She would understand." She said, shakily, "She... she would _know_. I'm doing this for _her_."

"Come, little Hero. Come with us. The torture that is your life... is it really worth living?"

Blade didn't reply. More frozen tears stung her face. She walked until she felt the end of the quay under her feet. She looked down at the frozen sea. She saw herself reflected as she was as a child, a young, scruffy girl with tied back hair, thin from lack of sustenance. But not as thin as Rose, who had given more than half of their food to _her_.

"Come. I will bring you peace."

"Peace." She murmured, feeling the cold wind slow and soften, no longer freezing her, _soothing_ her.

"It's all over. And beyond death awaits the void. You will cease to exist completely. Blessed silence. An end to pain. Just close your eyes."

She let out a low sigh, closing her eyes. Her breathing slowed, and she felt tingles move over her skin as the air warmed.

She felt rather than heard someone stop behind her. She turned, slowly. Rose stood in front of her, a young, teenage girl, tall for her age, wearing the same ragged clothing as her. She gave a small, sad smile, and gestured to her side with a nod of her head, "Come on, little Sparrow. Let's go."

Sparrow looked at her, the slightest hint of a frown crossing her face.

Rose held out a hand, "Come on! Let's get moving, sunshine! It's time to go!"

She nodded, slowly, and took a few steps towards her. Her feet moved slowly, and time collapsed. She reached out for her big sister's hand, and, as she did, her sleeve fell back, exposing her wrist.

Sparrow paused, staring at the skin. She stayed there for a moment, frowning. A sliver of a scar was visible on her wrist.

"Sparrow? _Sparrow_? You okay, hon?"

She didn't reply. She put her hand to her wrist. She hesitated, and the pushed her sleeve up to her elbow. The scars stood out clear, the scars she had cut deep into her flesh, the word she had needed, buried deep in the heart of the Spire, the scars she had caused all that time ago.

Rose.

Michael. I love you.

A gunshot - _bang!_ - another, back through the window - _smash!_ - silence.

She looked back up. Rose was standing there, smiling, encouragingly. Blade looked at her. She shook her head, "No." She pulled up her pistol and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The banshee screeched with anger and pain, and threw out a hand. Something invisible hit Blade full on in the chest and she was flung backwards, smashing onto the frozen water, her head cracking back on the ice. Blade winced and then immediately got to her feet, drawing her Daichi, readying herself.

The thing flew towards her, all fire and wrath and fury, bursting like a thing out of hell, "Hey, Sparrow! Don't like it _cold_?"

She threw out her hand again, this time towards the ice she was standing on. Blade had just enough time to glance down at her feet when the ice cracked and gaped and she was plunged into the icy cold water.

Fire burned over her, scalding at her skin, her lungs aching in protest. Blade pushed up, her hands finding the hole first and grabbing the ice, wrenching her upwards. She surfaced and dragged in a breath, followed quickly by another one, the cold freezing her brain and her lungs, making her shiver, violently. She lowered a hand back into the freezing water, her body objecting, fiercely, and pulled out a blade. She reached out, and, with all her might, dug the blade into the ice a few feet from her. She paused, giving herself some time, and then ducked back under the water and yanked upwards, using the momentum to throw herself back onto the ice.

Her whole body shook, so badly she could hardly see, and as she retook her grip on her sword it immediately clattered to the floor. She grimaced and grabbed it again, forcing one hand over the other, closing her numb fingers. Icy water streamed from her with every movement, burning her. The banshee swept over her head and a horde of minions appeared by her. She turned, swiping out at the spawn, slicing them, ignoring their weak cries.

The Queen hovered over the ice a short while away from her, furious, "You have changed since the Spire! All you are is hatred and bitterness! You are _twisted_, a _mockery_ of all you once believed!"

She drove her sword deep into a shadow's stomach, "I am _fighting_ for what I believe!"

"You think all you took from that place was your scars! You are a _fool_! You took in more from that place than you know."

"I took in a will to survive, _nothing_ more!"

"A will to survive at the expense of others! You didn't have the _backbone_ to put your friend out of his misery! You let him be tortured, let the Commandant seep away his life like he was _nothing_! You let him die _alone_, and without _pride_!"

"There was _nothing I could do_!"

"And you really believe that? You went to see his little _Lily_, _didn't_ you. And what was her response, what did she say?"

_You __**liar**__! Get out of my house, you... you're __**lying**__! __**You**__ killed him! __**Didn't**__ you! Get __**out**__, get __**away **__from me!_

The wretched woman's shouts splintered through Blade's mind, and she shook her head, shouting over the fight around her, "She was _grieving_! She didn't know what she was _saying_!"

"She knew very well! Because you _did_ kill him! You killed him when you told him about his wife! You twisted him up and made his mind _snap_."

"I _did not_ kill him! I _couldn't_ kill him!"

"You as _good_ as! You _broke_ him! You led him to his death!"

"_I did NOT_!"

The banshee shook her head, frustrated, and flew over to her, grabbing her by the throat and hurling her back onto the quay. She slid back, crashing into a pile of barrels, one falling off and crushing her to the ground, pain splintering down her back. Blade gave a low snarl and threw the barrel off, seeing it smash against the wall, black powder spilling out across the streets.

More minions appeared and she pushed away her Daichi and pulled out her pistol, firing as quickly as the clockwork mechanism would allow, yanking down the trigger, grabbing some more ammo from the holster on her chest when it ran dry and deftly ramming the bullets into place. She leapt to one with a burst of Will and sent a fireball scorching into the small of its back, its inhuman screams echoing around the bay.

"I will kill you and you will be in oblivion again, screaming, _begging_, at the silence, pleading for the end you denied so many!"

Blade shook her head, fury burning through her, "Then come out! Come out and kill me! _KILL ME_!"

Another dead minion, sliced to pieces, one exploded in a burst of lightning, one thrown into the wall and shot, death surrounding her, just death, death and noise and pain.

"As much as you fight you are destined to _fail_! I _will_ _break_ you, 273, you are nothing more than the next link in the chain!"

"_He_ didn't break me and _you_ certainly won't! You're nothing but an echo!"

"And _you_ are nothing but a _puppet_!"

The witch appeared from nowhere on the dock in front of her, spreading out her arms, ready, "Come on, little thing." She hissed, vicious animation poisoning her every word, "Let's play."

She shook her head, savagely, and aimed, "Play with _this_."

Blade fired a single shot, down and to the left, hitting one of the barrels of gunpowder straight on. The explosion threw her back, heat and light and noise taking over her world, until, finally, there was silence.


	10. Call My Bluff

**Call My Bluff**

Roxa stood by the window. The glass had mostly been blacked out by a large, dark cloth, but there was one small crack she could just about see out of.

"How's she doing." One of the Bowerstone boys asked, anxiously.

She shook her head, "I don't know. I can't see. This _fog_..."

"Aint natural." Clay growled, shaking his head, "Get away from that window, girl."

She hesitated, and then nodded, reluctantly, going to sit down. Her foot jiggled against the floor and she was chewing on her lip. The long thick jacket the Hero had given her to cover her pretty little dress only blunted the chill, and she felt shivers move across her shoulders.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and the same boy that had spoken was standing behind her, holding out his blue cuffed jacket. She gave a small smile, "You just keep it, hon. You're looking colder than _I_ do."

His face flushed slightly, but he nodded, awkwardly, and backed away. Roxa returned to tearing apart her lip. She wasn't normally nervous. She didn't think any whore in Bloodstone _could_ be nervous, not while doing what they did. But this wasn't a normal day, and that woman, even though she didn't even _know_ them, was out there fighting that thing for them.

She'd never seen a banshee before. She'd _heard_ of them, in stories. And she'd heard them, sometimes. Felt the chill at night that meant there was one nearing the town. They had never crossed the border before, not that _she_ knew of, anyway. They had always stayed in Wraithmarsh. Now this one was tearing apart the town, scattering bloody corpses across the streets.

She shivered again, violently, and then shook her head. She got to her feet and then settled herself back down on the floor, digging her hands deep into the coat's pockets. She felt blood trickle onto her tongue.

The cute yellow mutt let out a low whine, and then pushed closer to her, curling up half on her lap, blessing her with his warmth. She pulled him closer, thankful. He was like a cosy little rug.

"How long has she been out there." Someone deeper in the pub muttered, breaking the silence.

"Gotta be at least an hour." Another responded, grimly.

"An hour? What is going _on_ out there..."

"She's left us." The voice said, thick with disgust and anger, "She's got us holed up in here while she's gone and scarpered."

"No way." One of the brothers said, hotly.

The other agreed, "Sam's right, she wouldn't do that to us. No way."

"You know her?"

"Know her?" he hesitated, "Well... no, but..."

"Then how d'you know she hasn't left."

"She's... she's saved us before."

There was a gruff laugh, "And you bumped into her again? How much trouble do you guys _get_."

"Quite a bit, actually." Max admitted, almost apologetically.

"Quite a bit for fucking _townies_..." The man muttered, shaking his head.

Roxa rolled her eyes, and then got to her feet, despite the fuzzy dog's warmth, returning to the window.

"We sort of just... attract bother."

"Usually _undead_ bother." Sam added, shaking his head.

"How many times has this girl saved your worthless hides, then?"

"Only twice. Including today. Oh, and she said something about some sort of tussle in The Tomb of Heroes, but... we didn't know anything about that."

"We left a note." Sam pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but how many Sams and Maxs are there in Albion?"

"Sams and Maxs that happen to have found the Normanomicon?"

"Well... there _could_ be..."

"You guys are idiots." The guy growled, shaking his head, "How the _hell_ did two dimwits like you survive five _seconds_ in Wraithmarsh."

"We're quite resilient."

"You're as thick as a hung-over troll with the fight of a dead Hobbe. Without the _tact_."

"If that's so, then how did we manage it to Wraithmarsh? Let's see _you_ try!"

"Shut up."

* * *

The voices immediately silenced. Roxa didn't move her eyes, instead nodding at the glass, "It's her. It's Blade."

Sam got to his feet, moving swiftly over to her, "Where? I don't see her."

"Look. There. D'you see?"

The boy paled, "Oh, Avo. Is she...?"

"I don't know."

Max was now by her side, "What's going on?"

"She's injured. Look, she's out there, but she's injured."

"Is she dead?"

"Unconscious." Sam said, firmly.

She shook her head again, "I don't know. I can't tell from here." She paused, her hand on the glass. Then she nodded, slowly, "That's it. I'm going to her."

Sam looked uneasy, "Whoa, wait a second, she said not to open the door."

"_Look_ at her, she looks... she looks really hurt. She could be _dying_."

"But, the banshee -"

"I don't see it! Look, look for yourself!"

They all looked. No-one could see even a sign of it. Roxa hesitated, and then shook her head, "I'm going to her. Sam, Max, help me get this door open."

Max shook his head, "You heard what she said, don't open it, not for anything, even if it's me, _especially_ if it's me, ma'am, I really think -"

"I am opening this door. And I am going to help her. She's helped us. She _saved_ your _lives_."

The brothers looked at her for a moment. Then they nodded, and started pulling back the barricade.

Clay got his feet and walked over to her, swiftly, taking her by the arm, "I don't think that's a good idea, girl."

"I don't care."

"She said _stay_."

She yanked her arm back, "I don't _care_! What are you - _cowards_?! I'm _going_ to her!"

The bartender looked at her for a second. Then shook his head, gruffly, "Fine. Do what you want."

She nodded, slowly, and then turned back to the door. Boy was jumping up and down beside them, whimpering and growling, desperate to be reunited with his owner. The last table was pushed away, and Roxa took a breath before stepping out onto the street.

* * *

"Blade?"

Roxa took a few slow steps towards her. The streets were covered in bodies and blood, and she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling quite dizzy. She controlled herself, and then opened her eyes again, focussing purely on the Hero's limp frame.

She took a few more steps, her eyes tracing the scene in front of her with amazement. The shipyard at the end of the waterfront had been completely demolished, leaving only blackened, smouldering remains. The walls and floor were caked thick with soot, and small fires had broken out across the dock. Roxa shook her head, slowly. Blade looked... worse for wear. Her highwayman clothes were ripped and torn, and blood and dirt covered her face. She was lying flat on her back, one hand on her stomach, the other by her side, her head tilted slightly and her eyes closed.

She took an uncertain step forwards, "Blade? Blade, can you... can you hear me? Blade, answer me. C'mon."

There was a pause, and then a low groan, "Roxa?"

She gave a small, relieved laugh, taking a few steps forwards, "_Blade_!"

Her eyes opened, seeing her, and she shook her head, "I told you to stay _inside_." She said, grimacing, pressing a hand tightly to a large patch of blood on her stomach, "Do you people listen to _nothing_ I say?"

"What _happened_?"

"Shot a barrel of gunpowder. The banshee was caught right in the blast, but I... got the aftershock." She moved slightly, and then winced, "I ran out of health potions."

The pain in her voice was obvious, no matter how gruffly she spoke. Roxa shook her head, urgently, "Are there any more in your pack?"

"I... I don't know. Maybe. Let me... let me just..." she tried to get to her feet, pushing out the spare hand against the floor, grinding her teeth against the pain. Roxa immediately moved towards her, holding out a hand to her shoulder.

"_Get away from her_!"

* * *

Roxa spun on her heel, her heart pumping hard in her chest. Her eyes widened.

"You heard me, stay _back_!"

She just stared at her, dumfounded, and then shook her head, "But you're -"

The other Blade shook her head, limping a little closer, "Listen to me, Roxa. Take a few steps back. I'll explain everything, just keep _away_ from it."

Roxa hesitated. Then she looked down at Blade. Her eyes were fixed on her double, widened slightly, her breathing fast. Her eyes flickered up, urgently, "Avo. It's not dead."

The second Blade was having trouble. She had fallen to her knees, one hand pushing at an identical wound on her stomach. She forced herself upright, and then staggered forwards a few steps, "Roxa. Shoot it. _Shoot_ it."

"But... but..." she transferred her gaze back to the one on the floor.

She was shaking her head, quickly, "No. No, don't. Roxa. It's the banshee. Don't."

"Kill it! Roxa, listen to me, _shoot_ it! Kill it now!"

"_No_! Roxa, don't listen to it! It's the _banshee_! Don't _listen_!"

The other shook her head, anger and pain etched on her face, "Roxa, shoot it. Shoot it now. Come _on_, just _kill_ it!"

"Roxa, _please_. Remember what I said, remember I told you it would pretend to be me! It's playing with your head!"

Number one reached out a hand and Roxa stumbled away. She tried again and the prostitute pulled out the pistol Blade had given her, cocking it and aiming it firmly at her head, "Don't touch me."

Number two stepped forwards and she immediately changed targets, "Stay _away_!"

Boy was by her heel, growling. She glanced down at him, but he was growling at _both_ targets. How could she know which one was his master?

"Blade." She pleaded, switching her aim, hesitantly, "Which one's you? What... what the hell do I do."

"Roxa." The first said, keeping her voice firmly stable, "Please. Listen to me. Your first words to me were _you lookin' for a good time_. When I said I was looking for Reaver -"

"You've been in my head, of _course_ you'd know that!" the other said, viciously.

"- you said _aren't we all_. You were wearing a purple silk dress."

"Stop it."

"I called you a sycophantic bint and you didn't know what it meant."

"Stop this, _leave_ her alone!"

"I told you to look after Boy and the two Bowerstone kids, Sam and Max, and I told you never to open that door."

"That's _it_!" she took a few quick steps forwards and Roxa turned the gun on her. She stopped, but her anger didn't fade, "Kill it. Kill it now, Roxa, stop letting it get into your head! _Kill_ it!"

"How the hell am I supposed to know which one's the original?!" she asked, angry and scared, shaking her head.

The second Blade stopped. She looked at her for a second, her breathing rough and ragged. Then she shook her head, "Then shoot us both."

She stared at her, "_What_?!"

"Do it. First me. Then her. _Do_ it!" the girl just looked at her and she shook her head again, impatiently, "One of us is the real one but you'll never believe either of us. So shoot us both, you'll kill the banshee, save Bloodstone. _Do_ it! Do it now!"

"No. Roxa, you can't kill a banshee with a single shot."

"You can if it's a headshot." She replied, fiercely, "_Do_ it, Roxa. Just two pulls of the trigger, this'll all be over. Come on. Shoot us. _Please_."

Roxa bit her lip so hard blood poured into her mouth. She shook her head, uncertainly, backing away from them, her breathing hectic.

"Roxa." The second one was on her knees again, leaning over a little bit, "Roxa, I haven't got long left. Please. Do it. I'd rather die by bullet and stop this than die when that thing decides it's had enough of toying with _you_. And you don't deserve that either. Do it. Shoot us both."

"Roxa. Please. Don't."

Tears spilled down her cheeks but she didn't wipe them away, keeping her hands on the weapon, "I can't. I can't do it."

"Yes you can. Shoot me."

"I_ can't_."

"No, don't, Roxa!"

"_Shoot_ me. Come on, just _do_ it."

"Blade, I -"

She lost her temper, "I know what I'm fucking doing! _Listen_ to me, you stupid little whore and _shoot me_!"

Roxa aimed, quickly, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The bullet hit the first Blade smack in the chest, smashing her back into the ground. She watched as the woman gasped, her hand seizing the wound, her breaths shallow and caught in her throat, gaping for air, like a fish out of water.

Roxa dropped the gun, unconsciously. Her eyes fixed on the crippled body. She felt someone beside her, and the other was back on her feet, pistol raised and ready. She pulled the trigger so quickly her finger was a blur, pounding in shot after shot into the injured Blade's chest, the sound of the gun sharp and piercing in the air, just one, continuous bang.

Her pistol ran dry, and she fell back to her knees again. Her hand went to her belt, fumbling with a holster, probably going for more rounds, but she couldn't get it open. Her hand caught the floor before she fell, the other still clutching at her wound. Her forehead lowered, touching the floor, her breaths caught in her chest.

Roxa backed away, her eyes flickering between the doubled-up Blade to the mutilated corpse on the floor. She held her breath.

Blade glanced up, and then let out a low, dark growl, "Just... _die_."

She grabbed Roxa's discarded pistol and shot the body straight in the head. There was a screech, a high, piercing scream, and then the body and the pool of blood around it shimmered away in a plume of smoke.

* * *

Roxa eyes stayed on the empty space on the floor where the banshee had been. Then she looked back at Blade. She was crippled, lying now on her side, grimacing, her breathing reduced to hisses of pain.

She immediately moved over to her, grabbing her hand, "Blade? _Blade_?"

The Hero shook her head, painfully, "Nice shot."

"I was aiming for her head."

"Ah. Then maybe not so good."

Boy was now by her side, lapping at her hand, and her eyes opened a little, hazily.

"I must be dreaming..." she murmured, her eyes sliding shut again. Roxa shook her head, worried, and brushed a hand across the many wounds. The Hero seized up in pain, "_Avo_! Okay. Maybe not dreaming then. _God_..."

"Sorry, sorry. We... we need to get these healed."

"I'm out of potions."

"The alchemist is dead." Roxa glanced over her shoulder, and Clay was standing there, watching the scene in front of him, grimly, "We've got no way to get some more."

"Then we have to get her to someone who will." Roxa replied, firmly, "Clay, help me."

They lifted her up a little, getting her into a sitting position. She cursed violently under her breath, and Roxa tried to go a little more gently.

"Roxa. I know what... what you're thinking. And don't you dare."

"What _are_ you thinking." The bartender asked, frowning.

"Reaver. We need to get her to Reaver."

The woman shook her head, immediately, "No. No, get... get _off_ of me. Get... _off_."

"I'm sorry, Blade, but if you don't get treated you're going to die. And this is _Bloodstone_. He's the only one that'll help you."

"Help... _help_ me? No. Don't... don't you dare. Roxa. _Don't_."

"I'm sorry. Clay, help me."

"No... I won't... I... Roxa..." She held on for a moment longer, and then her eyes slid closed and her body went limp.

Roxa looked up at him, her heart fluttering, "We need to get her to Reaver. _Now_."

* * *


	11. A Sense of Personal Honour

**A Sense of Personal Honour**

Jaina dreamt of the Spire. She dreamt she was back in the torture chamber, watching in silence as the Commandant tortured that young boy with his Will, burning him, light and noise and blood and screams, just standing there. The Spire Being passed her a pistol, and she watched from the outside as the younger Sparrow shot the boy straight through the head. Just fifteen.

She dreamt she was talking to Officer 162, answering his questions quietly and slowly, watching him smirk as he looked her over, then left. The prisoners begged, pleaded. They were starving, just bones, shells. Her eyes moved over to the lever that would alleviate their suffering, if only for a little while. But she couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot, and the men cried out to her and begged and pleaded but she couldn't move. She stood there, frozen to the spot, shaking uncontrollably.

_Please. Help us. Please. If we don't eat we will die. Please. Why... why are you __**doing**__ this?_

She dreamt she stood there, silently, watching them, all the way until Officer 162 came back. He saw her standing there, frozen, and smirked again, walking over to her, murmuring in her ear while his hand slid down her back and into her trousers. She felt a tear slide down her face.

She dreamt of that day soon after Bob was killed. She had managed to sneak a dinner knife out of the mess hall. She smacked a guard and got herself thrown into solitary. She took the knife and sliced a deep vertical cut into her right arm. She woke to the face of the Commandant looking down on her. He'd found her before it was too late. Told her next time she should steal a pistol. Said it would be a lot less messy.

She dreamt of Lucien, and that day in his office, so many years ago. She dreamt of Rose.

_Death is not your destiny today, little Sparrow._

* * *

Blade jolted upright, dragging in a gasp of air, immediately throwing it back out, replacing it with a new one. She put a hand to her chest, to the bullet mark there, astounded when she felt very real pain. She gave a small yelp, retracting immediately. Then, hesitantly, she lowered her hand a little, searching for the cause. There was a thick white bandage around her chest. She stared at it, her heart still pumping fast.

"Troubled sleep?"

Blade reflexively threw her hand to her holster, reaching for her pistol. Then she let out a low, furious snarl and shook her head, "Reaver, _give_ me back my gun!"

Reaver raised an eyebrow, "What thanks I get for saving your life..."

"Well, I'd thank you if it wasn't for the fact that I know you _want_ something for it."

"You are quite correct. But, tell me, if I had left you your weapon, would you have just shot me with it?"

She looked at him for a second, "I'd have considered it."

He smiled, "Still bitter, then."

"Yes." She shook her head, returning her attention back to her wound. The white bandage was slowly growing a pool of red in the middle.

Reaver cocked his head to one side, "Increased heartbeat. Got your wound bleeding again. What did you dream?"

"None of your goddamned business." She looked around her, taking in her surroundings. She was back in that bedroom, back in Bloodstone Mansion. Reaver was sitting back in the same chair, watching her, a small, amused smile on his face. She shook her head, "How long have I been out."

"Three days. Little Roxa was getting quite worried about you."

"Roxa? Good. I need to see her."

"As do I."

"No, you want to see _to_ her, there's a difference."

He laughed, "How perceptive of you. Though, of course, if you'd rather I saw to _you_ you only need ask."

She let out a low snarl, and then shook her head, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and getting to her feet, gritting her teeth at the pain, "We've been over this - when hell freezes over. I'd honestly rather -" she stopped, abruptly, looking down at herself. She looked at him, "What the hell am I wearing?"

His smile grew, "Do you like it?"

"They're mine."

"Yes. They're apparently what you wear back on the mainland." He saw her frown and smiled, "Norman's been doing a little homework."

Blade looked down again. He was right. She was back in her typical 'Albion' outfit - shorts and a corset, both dyed an amazingly bright shade of purpely-blue. Her thigh-high boots stood on the floor beside her, also a bright violet, and her hat and golden ballroom mask were placed on the chest of drawers.

Without the boots the very short shorts showed a quite indecent amount of leg, and the tight corset seemed even tighter than she remembered. It had been rolled up a little to expose her wound, and she pulled it back down, her fingers shaking slightly. She glanced at him over her shoulder, "Miss Carver's work?"

"No, dear little Roxa's. I'm afraid Miss Carver's... _artistic talents_ have finally caught up with her."

Blade looked at him for a moment, "You killed her."

He nodded, "Yes, yes I did. A single shot to the heart - I assure you, it was quite painless."

She just looked at him. Then she shook her head, disgusted, and turned back to the chest of drawers. She picked up her mask, her hands shaking with anger, and slipped it roughly over her eyes. She smoothed back her hair and put on the black hat, all the while gritting her teeth, her heart throbbing in her chest.

_Pirate. Pirate. Pirate._

The pirate watched her like a hawk, and smiled when she turned back to him, "So. How have you been? You come to my home asking for assistance, stay the night, and then storm off for two days without so much as a note of explanation. How impolite of you, Jaina."

She shook her head, "In case you didn't _notice_ the huge massacre down on the waterfront, I'll enlighten you - I was sort of _busy_."

"Yes, I did, actually."

"You could have killed it easily." She said, her voice low with heavily suppressed anger, "Or at the very least helped. But you didn't."

"No, I'm afraid I didn't see anything in it for me."

"Yes. I thought you'd say that." She looked at him, "People are _dead_, Reaver."

"And that's a shame, it really is. But you're going to have to do more than put a few curs in danger to attract _my_ attention, my dear."

Her anger peaked at his suggestion, "You think _I_ did this?"

He shrugged, lazily, "Well. Never have I known a banshee to come this far into civilisation, and yet, lo and behold, one does... and little less than a _week_ after we _also_ get our first _Hero_. You are saying this is coincidence?"

"I was sent to look for two boys lost in Wraithmarsh, _they_ released the banshee, not _me_."

"Hmm... How... _convenient_."

"Oh, y'know what, think whatever you want. I'm out of here."

Blade made a move forwards and Reaver fluidly stepped in front of the door, "Not so fast, my dear. I have a proposal for you."

"What." Her voice was like ice.

"Maybe we should get back to business. Yes?"

"Lucien?" she asked, cautiously. She was waiting for the catch.

"Yes. Now, taking into account that I saved your life, I may still be open to coming to your assistance. What would it entail, exactly."

She paused, calculating him. Then she shook her head, and leant back against the wall, casually, "I want you to help me capture Lucien Fairfax. Notice I didn't say _kill_. I'll be doing that myself."

"Then how would I assist?"

"He'll be at the Spire. Well guarded. I'll need help taking down the lackeys. They can be very... _persistent_."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

He looked at her. The lie came easily to Jaina, purely because, as far as she knew, that _was_ all. It was _Theresa_ who would be adding in the little extras. She'd never been all that good at the 'you've got Hero blood' thing. Theresa explained it so much better.

"Hmm..." Reaver mused, holding a knuckle to his lips, "Tempting... who knows what lovelies he has secreted away at his little Spire... But here's the problem: you've done all sort of impressive things, and yet you haven't really done anything that benefits _me_."

"Reaver, I just saved your ass from a banshee."

"As you said, my dear, I could have handled that perfectly well should the need arise."

She looked at him. Anger boiled within her but she kept it firmly tamed.

He smiled, "My dear, you appear quite tense. Come, let me help you."

He walked towards her, swiftly, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her recoil back. She stayed perfectly still, her whole body stiffened, and he smiled at her as he circled around her, stopping at her back, "Let's get rid of some of that tension."

She felt his hands fall onto her shoulders and firmly suppressed a flinch. She tensed, subconsciously holding her breath. He brushed his hands across her shoulders and the back of her neck, softly like a caress, but when she turned her head to glance over her shoulder he pushed it back front and centre, firmly. She tensed even more and he seemed to feel it. He kneaded her muscles, gently, soothing them, "Relax. You must still be hurting after that little show. That was quite the scrap, Blade."

Though Blade's instincts were still on red alert, she felt with a painful intensity how good his attentions felt, how soothing his touch was, how sensitively his hands moved along her bare skin, going down only as far as the corset allowed him. His hands were like gold, seeking out pains that she didn't even know existed, the slightest cramps, the smallest aches, drawing them out and soothing them, expertly.

No. No, she wasn't enjoying this. He was a _monster_. _Worse_ than a monster. A _pirate_.

Reaver brushed across her neck, and then pressed down, drawing his hands down her back, out towards her sides. Was he trying to draw a groan out of her? Or was his game more subtle than that? Was he fucking with her head? Trying to associate his touch with pleasure in her mind? That option was more likely. The pirate was far from unintelligent. Once again, he wasn't just planning on fucking with her _body_. He was screwing with her _mind_,_ too_. If he succeeded... every time she saw him she would feel his touch like heat on her neck, a shiver moving across her shoulders.

His hands moved to her neck and she bit down hard on her tongue to prevent a groan. She could feel her muscles relaxing under his artful touch, feel his gentle pressure soothing her, relieving the tick in her neck, the tension in her shoulders. She could feel his game working.

And it sickened her.

Reaver stroked a thumb just underneath her hairline, "Come come, Blade. What good ever came from abstinence?"

"What good ever came from self indulgence."

She tried to pull away, but he dug deep into her collarbone, just enough to let her know he could hurt her if he wanted to, and she couldn't suppress her wince, "No no no, you just stay still. Relax. _There's_ a good girl. Now. Let me ask you something. My inaction during the banshee attack. It disgusted you. Why."

"Because you could have helped." Her jaw was locked, and she talked through gritted teeth, "Because you could have saved lives."

"At personal endangerment."

She shook her head, anger sparking inside her, "Maybe, yes. Do you think _I_ thought I wasn't in danger? Do you think I went there completely oblivious of the risks?"

"Why so bitter?"

"Because I do this every goddamned day. And I can't see why you can't do it _once_ to save your people. It's... _wrong_."

"That is why you are after Lucien?"

She hesitated, then rallied herself, ignoring his touch, "Yes. I want to save lives. And I don't understand why you don't."

He paused, and she felt him shake his head, "Not all of us have your pride in your sense of moral superiority, my dear."

"_Moral superiority_? I'm doing this to stop Lucien!"

"Your distinctions are trivial," he replied, simply, "Does the reason matter? Won't the end result be the same either way?"

She shook her head, almost hesitantly, "I... I don't think it will."

Reaver pushed deeper, "I didn't think you would be so single-_minded_. You want to kill this man, yes? If he were here, now, would you kill him?"

She paused. "Yes."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

He paused, musingly, one hand kneading down her spine, the other stroking under her neck, "Even if he had a reason for killing your dear sister?"

* * *

Jaina froze. She licked her lips, slowly, giving herself some time. Then she shook her head, slowly, "How long have you known."

"Not long. A few days."

"How."

Reaver's hands tightened slightly, "You talk in your sleep. Did you know?"

She didn't reply. Yes, she did know. _Hammer_ had told her, _Theresa_ had told her, _Michael_ had told her... But she was sure that wasn't the only way he had found out about her past. Norman. Her past was only rumour even back on the mainland, but it appeared _this_ rumour, at least, contained some truth.

She was shivering slightly. The banshee... everything it had said still echoed through her mind. She didn't want to go through this again.

"You hate him so much, don't you."

She didn't say a word. Hatred. Loathing. Disgust. She felt all these things. But what powered her to hunt down this man was unnameable. She didn't know the word. She couldn't even _describe_ it. It was something she'd just had all her life. Since that night.

"He _does_ have a reason."

Reaver cocked his head slightly to one side, "Sorry?"

"He _does_ have a reason. For... for killing her. But it wasn't good enough. _Nothing_ would be good enough."

"You deemed his reasoning unworthy," he completed, nodding, "So, in his eyes, are _you_ the unreasonable one?"

She shook her head, her anger sparking, "He has the eyes of a _madman_."

He smiled, slowly, "And you don't?"

She stopped. She glanced at him over her shoulder. Then she shook her head, slowly, "I don't hurt people."

"Are you so sure about that?"

She didn't reply. She felt her heart pumping fast in her chest.

Reaver laughed, feeling the reaction in her shoulders, and dug down a little bit with his hands, causing an involuntary shiver, "I admire a ruthless streak in a woman. You take the moral high ground with _me_, how many have _you_ killed?"

"That doesn't -"

"Yes it does, my dear. In your little quest for revenge how many lives have _you_ taken."

"Do you _care_?" she asked, sharply, "I'm sorry, did the Pirate King grow a conscience when I wasn't watching? You _don't_ care, Reaver, you're just a heartless bastard, and don't try and trick me into thinking otherwise."

He laughed, softly, his breath brushing her ear, "Such harsh words from such a sweet tongue... You'd make a good pirate."

"Then I will remain true to myself. Your _price_, Reaver. Name it, and then we'll see."

He thought for a second, "Well... that all depends. For Lucien's head... what would you give?"

"My life." There was no hesitation, "I would give my life to stop him."

"To _kill_ him."

"Yes. To kill him."

"Mmm..." he continued kneading her muscles, almost thoughtfully, and then shook his head, "It is not your life I require, I'm afraid."

"Then what _do_ you... _require_."

His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders and she could sense his amusement, "Need you really ask?"

She paused for a moment. She felt his hand move up from her shoulder, up her neck and across to her chin. He turned her face to his, firmly. Then he kissed her.

* * *

Blade's first impulse was to pull back. But you can't pull back from someone who's already behind you. She jerked away, hitting her elbow sharply on the wall, shaking her head, quickly, "No."

"You know it's the only way."

"Let me go."

He pulled her back again, kissing her, firmly, and she twisted, trying to avoid his lips, "Stop."

"No."

"_Stop_."

"_No_."

She tugged a little back, "I'm married."

"Mmm. And I want you." He kissed her again, gently, "You are beautiful."

"Stop it."

"Stunning."

"I mean it, stop it."

"Courageous."

"Reaver."

"Engaging."

He coupled each of his words with a brush of his lips across her neck, and she threw out a hand to the wall to stop him from pushing her forwards so she was cornered. She saw him smile out the corner of her eye, and he kissed her cheek, softly, "Beautiful."

"You've said that before." She said through gritted teeth. Her body was frozen, stiffened, completely taut against his touch.

He noticed, and went back to massaging her shoulders, trying to relax her again, alternating his stroke every now and then in hope of surprising her into a gasp, "It's simple, my dear. You give me what _I_ want, and _I'll_ give you want _you_ want. Only a fair trade... _Sparrow_."

She pulled away from him, turning back round, "_Don't_... call me that."

Call his game. Come on, Blade. Think about it. Alternation. Between unease and comfort. Anger and passion, pain and pleasure, the two flipsides of a coin. Call his game. Don't get sucked in.

She pulled in a deep, slow breath. Calm. Calm down. Theresa was forever telling her that as a child. Calm. Calm yourself, Sparrow. _Slow_. Quiet down, now. Just relax.

You give me what _I_ want, and _I'll_ give you want _you_ want.

_What I want is Lucien. I want his head. But... how far would I go to get that?_

You... you... chose me. Over Lucien.

Michael. No, this... this wasn't... She _couldn't_. Could she?

_Lucien laughs every night as he remembers that time in his study. He still keeps the gun with which he shot you and your sister. A __**souvenir**__._

Anger and uncertainty and pain burned inside her in equal measures, her light brown eyes tracing the green opposites. They seemed opposite in every way. While she was uncertain, angry, frustrated, scared, he was cool, collected, and looking at her with a small, confident smirk that said he knew exactly what battle was going on in her mind.

_I can't take any more of this. The smiles, the manipulations, the fucking pirate conduct. Kill him. Just goddamned kill him._

No. She couldn't. But... _what else_. What else could she do.

We need his help - and he wants to play his little game. So _you_ must play it - or Lucien will get what _he_ wants.

_Perhaps you believe you will resist. Some try at first - a misguided sense of __**personal honour**__._

Emotions fought and anger seemed to be winning. Anger at Reaver, at Lucien, at Theresa, at herself. Anger at every stupid goddamned choice she'd made that had brought her here. Anger at letting him even _think_ that this could be possible.

Anger that she had been pushed into what she was about to do.

_You must decide: is your honour... __**really**__ that important to you?_

Blade shook her head, shaking with suppressed rage, and grabbed the pirate by the collar of his ridiculous jacket, yanking him towards her and kissing him.

* * *

The action was short lived. Reaver pulled his head back slightly, relinquishing her lips, and she was only too happy to oblige. Blade's eyes burned with anger. He looked at her for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled, slowly, "Good girl."

He took her mouth again, this time with a forceful vigour that made her feel sick. He pushed her back against the wall and she immediately turned the tables, not one to be controlled at _any_ time, forcing back a retch as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She tightened her grip on his shoulder until it was hard enough to hurt, dangerously, letting him know her opinion of this act.

She kissed him like she hated him, and, though she wasn't altogether sure whether this was _increasing_ his fervour, she couldn't stop. She wanted to hurt him, _punish_ him, show him she wasn't just some toy he could play with whenever he liked. She bit down on his tongue, hard, tasting unfamiliar blood. He gave a low growl and retaliated with a bite of his own.

He tried to slow the actions down, hands looping in the strings that held her corset together, pulling at them, but she shook her head and yanked the top open, letting it fall to the floor. Do it quickly, get it over and done with, don't give yourself time to think.

She moved her hands to his shirt, popping open the buttons, going fast again, her speed hampered somewhat by her caution - she knew that if she ripped the silk cloth, even during a moment like this, his reaction would not be a happy one.

He glanced down, taking in her haste with a typical amusement, "Slow down, Sparrow! You don't want your first time over and done with in two minutes, do you?"

She shook her head, concentrating firmly on the clothing and not him, "Don't call me Sparrow. And I have two children this is hardly my first time."

"Ah, of course. I should have guessed. The _marriage_. And you were once a _gypsy_, of course..."

"What has _that_ got to do with anything."

"Well, you know how they are! Free living, free life, free love... It's remarkable you're still as naïve as you _are_, Sparrow."

"I said _don't_ call me _Sparrow_."

He shook his head and attacked her neck with his mouth, biting down hard enough to leave deep red marks. Jaina suppressed every single flinch and instead worked on his belt.

He stopped her when she came to undoing his holster, retrieving the Dragonstomper .48, firmly, "I think I'll keep this actually, my dear. You never know."

She looked at him. She didn't trust him with a gun. She didn't trust him at _all_, but with a gun he was substantially more dangerous. And, frankly, she thought his protests cheap seeing as she herself was unarmed for the first time in about fifteen years.

He saw her uncertainty, and smiled slowly, "Well. How about we... _negotiate_ for it? I can think of some _other_ ways of keeping your loyalty."

She frowned slightly. He glanced up at the rope hangings of the bed, pointedly. She remained confused for a moment, until she realised he had taken hold of her wrists, and was running a thumb along her skin, softly.

Blade looked at her wrists, and then the long strips of rope, and put two and two together. She shook her head, slowly, "Keep the goddamned gun." She said, her voice a low growl.

He laughed and leant back in, biting once again at her lip. "You're no fun."

"Shut up and just goddamned get this over with."

Reaver smirked, "Your wish is my command."

He pushed her roughly back onto the bed, moving quickly over her, his hands following the line of her shorts, unbuckling the belt, easily. He seemed to consider pulling them off and then stopped, instead moving his hands up her thighs and underneath the thin fabric, pushing upwards.

He leant down so his breath brushed against her ear, "If it helps... you can just imagine I'm your little _Michael_." She tensed, and he noticed, and laughed, rotating his hands a little towards the inside of her legs, "Though, of course, I think you'll notice some... _substantial_ differences."

Blade bit hard on her tongue again, fighting back the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes. Oh God. Oh Avo. No. No, she couldn't be thinking about him now. Get him out of your head, get him _out_!

But she couldn't. His voice, his smile, his laugh, his touch - so gentle, _nothing_ like the treatment she was receiving now - his modesty, warmth, his light, easy humour, Avo, no, please, _please no_. This was _Reaver_ brushing across her skin, _Reaver_ smirking, licking along her jaw, this was _Reaver's_ bulk pressing her down into the mattress, keeping her still, holding her down, and she had never been so painfully aware of it, so _conscious_, knowing it was him, knowing it was wrong, knowing she could do nothing to stop it. This wasn't _Michael_ this was a _pirate_! A _murderer_! A filthy, chauvinistic, Bloodstone _pig_, a _monster_ of men.

Blade felt tears threaten again, and, again, she forced them back. She tried to return again to the anger she had had before, but it was too late. She couldn't do it. Oh God. Oh Avo.

Michael. Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry.

* * *


	12. Back to Business

**Back to Business**

The pirate was halfway through unclipping the clasp to her bra when something inside Jaina finally snapped.

"_Jaina. I love you. I would wait... a __**hundred**__ summers for you."_

She shook her head and pushed her hands out to his, stopping him, "No. No, stop. _Stop_."

He glanced down at her, not halting his attempts to relieve her of more clothing, "Why."

She stopped his hands again, "I can't do this. I can't. You don't... I just... I just _can't_."

"_Why_."

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "I am not an adulterer. I can't do it. I _won't_."

He laughed, silkily, his voice a low growl of impatience and lust, "Oh come, Sparrow, put that silly ring away and relax for once!"

She gritted her teeth, "It's not just the ring. It's _you_. You asked me how much I would give. Well, I've just found the line. _You_."

Reaver just looked at her, thoughtfully.

She paused, and then put her hands on his shoulders, trying to get the space needed for her to escape, "Get off me." No response, no reaction. She pushed at him again, urgently, "Get _off_ me!"

He raised an eyebrow, his blank expression turning slowly into a small smirk, "Do you really want me to?" his hands moved back down, towards her unbuttoned shorts, "I mean... _really_... _**really**__ want_ me to."

She looked at him. Her body had reacted automatically to his attentions, but all she felt mentally, emotionally, was anger, pain, and fear.

"Yes." She said, her voice as firm as she could physically make it, "Yes. Get off of me."

He paused, thinking about it, still with that small smile, still stroking a hand up her leg. Blade forced herself to acknowledge her anger, build it up again, and looked at him, "Need I remind you of what happened the _last_ time we had this conversation, Reaver."

It was a bluff. Or, at least, it might be. Her skin was spotless, void of the Will lines it usually sported, the pure energy involved in defeating the banshee still not reckoned for yet. Maybe she could summon enough Will to get him off her. But she doubted it.

He raised an eyebrow at the barely-veiled threat in her words, looking at her with a strange sort of amused suspicion. Then, with a low, dramatic sigh, he rolled onto his back, freeing her from his weight.

* * *

Blade got up, quickly, fluidly pulling her shorts back into place and buttoning them whilst doing so. Her hands shook as she grabbed her corset off the floor and pulled it back on, keeping her back to him as she fumbled with the strings, pulling them tight and tying them. She closed her eyes, stabilising her tone, not wanting the pirate to know how much he had affected her, "I'd sooner face Lucien alone. Mock all you like. I can defeat him without you."

She heard the amusement in his tone: "If that was true you wouldn't still be here."

She raised an eyebrow, and managed to return her face to a completely blank expression. She turned to him, "Actually, I was looking for my weapons." She replied, coolly, "_Again_. So if you could just point me in the right direction I'll be on my way _out_ of this hell."

Reaver raised an eyebrow, a clear sign of his scepticism at her boldness. Blade just looked at him, keeping her expectant expression. He was still shirtless, and, for someone who relied almost solely on Skill, he had quite a well-developed body. Her eyes flickered down to the Dragonstomper attached to his waist, and then back to his face. The brow raised a little more as he realised what she was glancing at, and a small, lopsided smile moved over his lips. He moved his hand, casually, and his fingers just brushed against the grip.

Blade kept her eyes locked on his, warning burning through her, and shook her head, slowly, "You don't intimidate me, Reaver."

"Do you not fear me?" he sounded genuinely curious.

"No." She replied, simply, "I... I am _wary_ of you, I would be a fool _not_ to be. But I don't fear you. I am _mostly_ _irritated_ by you."

"Irritated?"

She nodded, "Yes. You're quite tiresome, you know that?"

"I could say the same about _you_. You yourself are _very_ dull."

"Dull because I will not succumb to you?"

His eyes moved over her, thoughtfully, "To a degree, yes."

"You just find everyone dull, don't you."

He smiled, "To a degree, yes."

"My _weapons_, Reaver."

He nodded, slowly. He paused, then sighed again, and leant back on the bed, reaching down to the floor to retrieve her glittering crossbow, running his hands over it and then placing it on the mattress. The Daichi came next, and, again, he looked it over before putting it down close beside him, in a sort of come-and-get-it way.

Jaina reached out, grabbing hold of the blade's hilt. She went to withdraw, but he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her closer. She didn't say a word, and he kept her eyes for a moment. Then he glanced down at her bare arm, "Your scars... they interest me."

She yanked her arm back, retrieving her weapons and turning away, "That's nice."

"That one was carved recently. And by _yourself_, yes?"

She sat down in a chair, grabbing her thigh-high boots. She dragged them on, trying to take the indecency of the situation down a notch. Though, given the tightness of the leather now clinging onto her legs, it probably hadn't done much. She bent to do the ties, keeping her gaze firmly off the pirate, "Yes. It was. Any other observations?"

"Yes. That scar over your heart is not just a bullet wound. Where'd you get the... _decorations_?"

She paused until she knew she could speak without a shake, covering the action by pulling sharply at her laces, "The Spire."

"Mm... so Lucien has marked you _twice_... Why don't you cover it?"

"I am proud of it."

"First war wound?"

She gave a bark of a laugh, "Hardly _first_. It's the symbol of my freedom from that cage."

"So you _display_ it. _Proudly_."

"Yes."

"Mmm... you begin to interest me more and more, dear Sparrow."

Blade forsook warning him about using that name again, and instead just got to her feet. She glanced around her, and then back to him, raising an eyebrow, "Bag?"

"Roxa's taken charge of it. Along with that mongrel of yours."

She sensed the aversion behind his words, and raised an eyebrow, "What, he chew apart your smoking chair or something?"

He shook his head, "He's a useless mutt."

"A useless mutt who can tear open a human's throat with his teeth." She replied, calmly, "We've got an understanding. He kills any I take down."

The pirate raised an eyebrow, distastefully, "Charming..."

She shook her head, "I wasn't brought up in a charm school, Reaver. I was brought up to kill anyone stupid enough to level a pistol at my head. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must continue."

* * *

Blade turned, slinging her crossbow onto her back and leaving the room. She made her way fluidly through the giant house, glancing over the wrong way only once before choosing the correct route. When she reached the stairs she decided to acknowledge the presence behind her: "You're following me again."

"I'm interested to see whether you have learned where you're going."

"I'm cleverer than I look, pirate."

"Mm, I've noticed."

She reached the foot of the stairs, and moved towards the door. Reaver matched her pace, and smiled at her, conversationally, "I've heard you're not such a wasted crossbow user after _all_."

"_Have_ you."

"Yes. Apparently you're quite an adept with a _blunderbuss too_. Not my choice of weapon _personally_, but I suppose it requires... _some_ skill."

"A blunderbuss is a weapon you use when you want to let everyone within a hundred miles know you're coming. It's a weapon of _fear_, not of accuracy."

"My thoughts exactly. But this specific weapon is supposed to be quite... _Legendary_, if you catch my drift."

She didn't jump for his bait. "Mmhmm. And how'd you know about the Enforcer."

He gave a small smile, "I asked Roxa. I can be very... _persuasive_."

"Mm. I've noticed."

He laughed and shook his head, "Not yet you haven't."

"Not _ever_. Goodbye."

"Wait."

* * *

Despite all of her better instincts, she turned back to him.

Reaver paused, watching her for a moment. He wasn't smiling this time, and she could see a tint of thought in his eyes. "You travelled through Wraithmarsh."

"Yes."

"And survived."

"Yes."

"You fought a banshee."

"Yes."

"And _survived_."

"Yes."

He looked at her. Then he shook his head, "I have another idea."

Blade shook her head, immediately, "I've had enough of your ideas to last me a lifetime."

A small, lopsided smile moved over his lips, "Of course. But hear me out. I'm sure you'll find this idea much more... _amiable_."

She hesitated for a moment. Theresa was screaming in her head to let him continue. She didn't want to. She wanted to get out of this place as soon as physically possible. She wanted to get as far as she could, back up to Oakfield. No, she wanted to go to Bowerstone. She wanted to see Michael. She wanted to see her children.

Jaina gave a low, weary sigh, "What is it."

Reaver's smile grew, "Well. There's a certain item I need returned to its rightful owners in Wraithmarsh."

"Wraithmarsh." She repeated, raising an eyebrow, "Fantastic. I need to kill something."

He smiled, "I bet. They live in an enchanting place called the _Shadow_ Court. I'd do it myself, but my relationship with the owners is..." he paused, searching for the word, and his hesitation sparked up an interest in Blade that she tried hard to fight. "_Complicated_." He ended, rather lamely, "And, while my associates here have their uses, most aren't... _terribly_ reliable."

She gave a small, twisted smile, "Not even precious _Norman_?"

"Norman is needed more _here_, I'm afraid. And, as you know, Wraithmarsh is quite a... _dodgy area_. And you made it through, alive. _Twice_. You're just the girl I need. So how about this: you run this little errand for me, and I'll assist you in your quest for... vengeance or... or _riches_, or whatever it is that floats your particular boat."

She raised an eyebrow at his words, and paused for a moment, deciding which to react to first, "I'm not your errand girl, Reaver."

He smiled, pleasantly, "Of course, of course. If you prefer, you can see it as less of an _errand_ and more... my _price_."

Blade paused, and then nodded, slowly, "Fine. What is it."

He nodded to a desk to his right, keeping his eyes locked on hers, "There. See?"

She looked at him for a second. Then she followed his gesture. She walked over to the desk, her eyes skimming over various books and landing on the one thing he could be talking about. It was a sort of... _stamp_, like a... metallic circley... thing. A circle surrounded another, with strange, almost _snake_-like patterns inside, deep purple and blue.

It was with great reluctance that Blade finally picked it up. Its weight took her by surprise, and she almost dropped it. She adjusted her grip, quickly, and looked at it. The thin metal strip on the outside cut into her fingers slightly, a feeling she hadn't felt since she picked up a blade for the first time, and she didn't like it. She had a fighter's hands, tough but smooth, with one long slit of a scar extending from her thumb where she had slipped when she was a lot younger. Not much could feel uncomfortable in her hands. This thing did.

Her fingers found the slight embossing on the metal, and they followed it, feeling gently over the bumps and engravings. "What is it." She whispered, eyes fixed on the seal.

Reaver gave a small smile, "Just a little... _objet d'art_."

She glanced at him. Trust Reaver to play off a serious question with an amateur foreign tongue. She looked back at the strange metal seal, shifting it in her hands. It felt... _wrong_. Every instinct inside her was telling her to drop it and run.

She gathered her strength, and placed it back on the table, gingerly. Then she turned to him, "What makes you think I'll accept your request. What makes you think I won't just leave. Catch the first boat I find at the Quay and get the hell away from this place."

Reaver laughed, silkily, "We _both_ know you won't do that."

"Why."

He shook his head, and smiled, condescendingly, "My my. You're just as naïve as I thought."

"_Why_."

"Because I'm _me_!" he shook his head again, smiling broadly at her wary confusion, "You honestly don't know? Dear me..." he moved closer to her, putting a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear, then gently stroking her cheek and neck, "I could cause _so_ much trouble for you here, Blade. _Believe_ me. And not just Bloodstone. I have plenty of people at my beck and call that would do, well, pretty much _anything_ for me."

She shook her head, disgustedly, "Hired assassins? You are the very definition of indolence."

He laughed, softly, "Yes, I believe I'll agree with that one." He paused, and then moved even closer towards her. Jaina tensed as she felt his breath on her skin, and fought hard to keep herself from smacking him away. Reaver laughed, softly, and kissed the side of her neck, "Still so _tense_. I wish you would let me help, my dear Sparrow. I assure you, I can be quite... _accommodating_."

She bit her tongue, eyes filled with anger, and forced herself to stay on the spot. She had done so much to get them _away_ from this particular line of inquiry. But it seemed this pirate had a one-track mind.

Reaver kissed her neck again, moving around to the other side, gently biting her ear. She closed her eyes, and bit down hard on the inside of her mouth, trying to block out the feel of his lips on her skin, but it was so hard, _so_ hard. She could feel herself shaking with anger.

* * *

Suddenly, just as Jaina thought she was about to snap and gut him with her blade, Reaver stepped back. His eyes moved over her face, genially, and he smiled at the obvious hatred in her eyes, "As I said: it's a pity. You and I would make a good... _team_."

"I am not afraid of you." Jaina said, her fury quietening her voice to a dark whisper.

He laughed, "A pity. _But_... I suppose that just goes to show that you do not know me well enough. Maybe we should _change_ that."

_I could kill him_, she found herself thinking, _I could kill him so __**easily**__._

No. No, she couldn't. As much as she hated it, as much as she hated _him_, she needed him. The words brought up a deep loathing inside her stomach, and she battled with it, quickly. No. She couldn't kill him. He was the Hero of Skill. He was needed.

However... Her eyes slipped down to his jugular vein, her fingers twitching towards her Daichi.

He noticed, and raised an amused eyebrow, "Planning your moves? You know, I've _killed_ for less. But I'll let it go. For _now_. You just behave yourself. And, you never know, perhaps I'll try and do the same."

She paused, looking at him. She was shaking. He smiled and reached out a hand to her face, but this time she took a sharp step back. She shook her head, slowly, "I've had enough scorn for one lifetime. Enough for _three_. You will not toy with me, pirate."

He raised an eyebrow, that insufferable smile still lingering on his lips, "Perish the thought."

Blade collected herself. Then she turned, heading towards the door.

"My dear?"

She turned back. He threw her something and she caught it, automatically. She glanced down. It was the damned seal, the one he'd told her to take to that _Court_. A Shadow Court in Wraithmarsh... She glanced back up at him, and he gave a slow smile, "Don't forget. Scamper on, now, love. I'm sure I'll be seeing you later."

He watched her freeze, anger at his tone boiling through her, and then give a short, stiff nod, turn, and leave.

* * *

Reaver let out a long breath, and then shook his head. He should have taken her when he had the chance. It was almost a shame. A delectable specimen like her was _far_ more than a head above the usual dregs he passed into the Court's reprehensible care. But it would take some time for Fairfax's envoys to get back to him, and he needed a way to make sure that she would not go running off before he had used her for all she could give.

He thought about it for a second, musingly. He would have much preferred _another_ way of passing the time whilst ensuring her presence. He had tried to be accommodating. But that, apparently, was not to be. The woman just wasn't complaisant enough.

He shook his head again, turning back into the mansion, closing the door behind him.


	13. Screaming Shadows

**Screaming Shadows**

Blade cursed, violently, causing quite a few heads to turn her way. Of course, they were probably staring at something _else_ as _well_, and that knowledge only served to heighten her anger. She felt like a fool for letting the pirate manipulate her, and her self-loathing grew when she thought about the _last_ time she stormed out of that place, thinking just the same. Last time she had drowned the voices with seven pints of foul-tasting bitter. This time she was going to throw herself back into business with such vigour she wouldn't even have time to think.

Roxa shot a nervous glance at her, "You're still mad?"

"Yes, Roxa, yes I am. I _told_ you I didn't want to see Reaver. I _told_ you."

"You were going to _die_."

"Listen to me, Roxa, there are a hell of a lot worse things than _dying_, and _that_ conceited bastard is _one_ of them."

"You still haven't told me what he did to you."

"I still can't believe that you haven't _guessed_."

"But you're still here. What did he ask you to do?"

Blade just shook her head, ignoring the question. The weight of the seal in her pocket served as a constant reminder of the pirate's price, and she could still remember the feel of it, the cold, heavy metal. Keep it together, Blade. She'd been through worse. A trek through Wraithmarsh, piece of cake.

However, something told her it wouldn't be so simple...

"Why did you do it?"

Blade glanced at her, "Hmm?"

"The waterfront. With the banshee. When it was pretending to be you. You told me to shoot the both of you. Why."

"Well, it was me or the whole town."

"You'd give up your _life_ for this hell?"

She shrugged, casually, "I'd... take my chances with a bullet. I've been shot many times before, Roxa, and, no offence, but you have a horrific aim."

The prostitute gave a small, slow smile, "Yeah. Yeah, I do, don't I."

"Yep. Maybe you should work on that." They reached Wraithmarsh Hill, and a chill moved over Blade's shoulders. She'd thrown her highwayman's jacket over her Albion outfit, having purposefully not given herself the time to change out of it, so she was far from cold. But her spine tightened as she looked back at the place she had now begun to hate.

"This thing Reaver's got you doing. It's in Wraithmarsh?"

"Yep."

"D'you know _where_?"

She shook her head, hesitantly, "I've... got an _idea_. I... I think I may have passed it. On the way here."

_The Shadow Court. It was they that destroyed Oakvale._

Oakvale. That sick mess of trees and swamp, right in the middle of Wraithmarsh, twisted towers and old, decrepit buildings, the sorrow of a thousand lives screaming through the dark.

_There is a deep well in the centre of Wraithmarsh, made of tombs... that is where they reside._

Another corridor of tombs. Another dead pathway. Souls locked inside, screaming, always screaming, trapped.

"And you don't think..." the girl hesitated.

Blade looked at her, dragging herself out of her thoughts, "Think what."

"Think that... maybe Reaver's just... y'know."

_Be careful. There is more to this task than Reaver lets on._

"Sending me on a wild goose chase?" she completed, shrewdly. The girl shrugged, and she nodded, grimly, "It's always a possibility. I trust him about as much as I'd trust an arrogant, chauvinistic, deceitful, murdering pirate, and, whaddya know... But I've got no choice but to try. I do need him, Roxa."

"To kill Fairfax?"

"Yes. I need his assistance. However much I might hate it."

Boy lapped at her hand, sympathetically, and she stroked a pensive hand over his thick fur. Then she shook her head, straightened the straps of the bag on her back and quickly checked her weapon, "Well. Better sooner than later."

"Will we see you again?"

She nodded, "Uh-huh. One final time, I'm afraid. Well... Depends, I suppose."

"On whether you die facing Lucien."

She gave a small, soft smile, "Yeah. Well. See you for now."

"Yeah. See you."

The girl turned, walking away.

"Anything I can say to stop you selling yourself to Bloodstone's inhabitants?"

She didn't turn back, "No. Sorry."

"Still not grown any self-respect, then."

She could sense a smile, "Nope."

"Ah. Well. Had to try."

"Yeah. I know. See ya, Blade."

"See ya."

She watched the whore walk away, watched her melt so easily back into her old self, brushing a hand across a man's cheek, laughing. The guy smirked, and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Blade turned before she could see anything become of the movement. Her eyes fixed once again on Wraithmarsh. She had work to do.

* * *

Sweat and tears mingled on Blade's face as she slashed out with her sword again and again, taking down the legions of Hollow Men. Her arm throbbed from a slash of an unexpected balverine, pain seeping into her consciousness, and she prayed to Avo that she wasn't infected. She was pretty sure it had been a scratch not a bite, but with the panic of the moment, it could have been _any_thing.

She let out a low yelp and then a snarl as fetid claws raked down her face, and responded by slashing open the offending Hollow Man's chest, her composure slipping only slightly as half-decomposed organs slithered to the ground. The smell was the thing that always got her. The smell of death and decay, something that only time could wear away. Avo, she hated Hollow Men. She _**hated**__ Hollow Men_.

Blade managed to knock the last few to the floor with a well-aimed spell, and turned her head, automatically, as Boy bounded forwards to tear their throats out. She didn't look down at the little 'present' her faithful companion dropped at her feet a moment later, but she patted his head anyway, forcing up enthusiasm, "Good Boy, _good_ dog!"

She heard the faint swish-swish-swish as his tail flapped through the high grass, and he gave a short, excited bark. So long as she kept Boy's enthusiasm up, she could not be perturbed at what she was doing. The golden lab was a testament to what she was trying to do, what trudging through this dark, forsaken place would eventually lead to: Lucien.

Blade tugged a potion out of her pocket and downed it, deftly, relishing the warm relief she felt flood over her. Then she turned back to the door.

It was huge, made of some thick, strange metal, covered in ancient patterns and pictographs. There was no handle, and she looked over the door for some means of opening it. Her eyes caught onto something, and she paused, looking at it. In the centre of the door there was a strange, circular hollow, like some sort of panel. Her eyes moved over it, slowly, and her heart fluttered in her chest. This was it. This _had_ to be it.

She hesitated, and then reached into her pocket, slowly, picking out Reaver's little _'objet d'art_'. She winced and changed her grip as the edges cut into her fingers slightly, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to be uncomfortable. She looked at the seal, and then back up to the door. That looked like a match to her. She hesitated again, and then pushed the seal slowly up to the metal. There was a deep, dark groaning sound, like the clunking of old hinges, and the door moved slightly, allowing about three inches of space at one side. Blade shoved the seal back into her pocket, unceremoniously, and then looked back at the door.

Blade hesitated, her hand hovering over the strange metal. She could hear nothing, everything was silent. In her mind she went through what might be on the other side, an innate habit. Hollow Men. Balverines. Banshees. Those shadow... things. Shadow creatures. A tingle went through her hand for a second. She could back away. Leave this hell. Screw the Hero of Skill, screw Theresa, screw Lucien, screw the _lot_ of them. She could return to Bowerstone, tell Michael and the kids anything she wanted, get rid of this mask, get rid of the persona, let Blade die, become Jaina again, just Jaina. And no-one would know.

Except her.

She dug her fingers into the small gap, and, without pause, threw the door open.


	14. The Price

**The Price**

_Please. Avo, please. Help me. God. No. Please._

Blade ducked a wild swing, feeling the strain cut like knives into her back and legs, and slashed out with her Daichi. The weapon passed straight through the shadow creature and out the other side, making no impact whatsoever. A gunshot had the same effect, and she was then forced to stumble back a few steps to avoid having her chest sliced in two.

_Oh, God, Avo, please. How... do you fight... __**shadows**__. How is it even __**possible**__. Avo. No, __**God**__ no._

Claws that drifted like smoke attacked her chest and she yelped, falling back into the wall, the shadow balverine taking her off guard. She forced out a hand, managing to create a shield between her and the beast, stopping it in its tracks. The thing growled and snarled and threw itself against her Will, trying to regain the upper hand.

Blade gritted her teeth and then shook her head, readying herself, waiting for the right moment. The balverine balked back and she immediately dropped the shield, readying another approach. But the shadow beast was ready and leapt to her, lowering its vicious teeth to her shoulder.

She threw out a hand and a bolt of lightning struck it right in its chest. The shadow creature was knocked back, sparks of power lining the incorporeal body, freezing it for a moment. Blade's heart skipped.

_God. __**That's**__ it. __**Will**__! I'm so __**stupid**__!_

Jaina hastily shoved her weapon away, putting out her hands. Her Will lines sparked in the dark, dank corridor, and she allowed her power to build, pushing hard, as hard as she could, feeling the temperature drop a few degrees and the air fizz with energy. A shadow Hobbe struck out at her leg and she grimaced, gritting her teeth against the pain, stumbling back but remaining standing. The beasts that had backed away at the sudden light show started to creep forwards, one step at a time, testing her limits. The whole room glowed a brilliant blue, white sparks flying from her hands.

Here we go.

She let the power loose. Bolts of lightning targeted the shadows, each hitting its aim, sending sparks shooting through the ghostly bodies, zapping them, freezing them to the spot. She forced out more, giving no mercy, _pounding_ the power into them, and, one by one, the shadows disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Blade let go. Her head fell back against the wall and she grimaced, raising a shaking hand to brush across her pounding temples. Over. Dead. Gone. They're all gone. Calm. Let your breathing slow. Let your heart lessen.

She breathed through her mouth, steadily calming, the stabs of pain in her head slowly lessening. Soon she could straighten up. She glanced around her and sighed, feeling relief flooding through her.

_Avo. Thank you._

* * *

The jump down would have shattered a normal human's bones. But not Jaina's. The Hero fell about fifteen foot down, completely level, landing on the balls of her feet, knees bent, arms out by her sides. She paused for a moment, remaining crouched, and then she looked up. She straightened, smoothed down her clothes. There was a soft thud next to her and Boy had fallen on his side by her feet. He paused, shaking his head, looking somewhat bemused. Then he jumped back to his feet, letting out a small, sharp bark.

They kept moving. Blade's whole body was tensed, her muscles coiled, ready. Something creaked to her right and she jerked her head to it, hand tightening on the sword held ready in front of her face. She saw absolutely nothing. She glanced down at Boy. His hackles were raised and the fur on the back of his head stood up. But he wasn't barking. She paused, waiting, and then shook her head, and continued slowly down the stairs. Blade licked her lips. She could hear the crying, the weeping, the begging, but she did not acknowledge it. She continued down into the dark, warily, her heart pounding in her chest, thinking trap, thinking banshee, thinking _worse_.

There was a light down the corridor ahead of them. Faint, a sort of... flickering glow. Candles. The crying was getting louder, and the sound sent concern, pain and fear like a dagger to Jaina's heart. Memories cut into her. Memories of the Spire, cowering in the dark in solitude, screams and silence breaking alternatively through her head. She took a few hesitant steps forwards.

The noise was coming from the left. She pushed her back to the right wall, wanting to see what it was before she went inside. She edged closer. The crying grew louder with every step. It was a girl. A young, relatively small girl, with her back to her, maybe about... twenty-six? Hard to tell without seeing her face. She took another silent step. She was on the floor, weeping into her hands, her whole body racked with tears. She was dressed in dark, ragged clothing. Maybe she was from Bloodstone. Maybe she had gotten lost. But, no. How would she get through the door?

Blade took another step and her Daichi clanked against the wall. The girl started and jerked her head to the sound, recoiling back slightly. Then she seemed to pause, her eyes flittering over her, quickly, calculating the golden mask and the blue costume. She dragged a hand over her face, wiping away tears, and then staggered to her feet. She hesitated, and then held out a pleading hand, "Please. Help me."

Blade took a few slow steps into the room. Her mind was whirling. The girl was younger than she had thought, about nineteen. Dark makeup spread down her lips and cheeks, her mascara running on her face. Her hair had the look of something that had once been perfectly styled. Fear and desperation had reduced her to the mess before her.

Fresh tears moved down the girl's face as Blade kept her silence, "_Help_ me. _Please_. I can't, I don't... I don't know what's going on."

"It's okay." The sentence was an automatic murmur, one that even surprised _herself_. She hesitated, and then shook her head, taking another step, strengthening her voice, "It's okay. C'mon. It's alright, don't cry."

"What... what's going on."

"That... doesn't matter. Everything's going to be okay." She hesitated again, "What's your name."

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth. Good. That's good. I'm Blade. Yeah? Now, listen to me, Elizabeth. I'm gunna get you out of here. Okay? I'm going to keep you safe."

She shook her head, desperately, "What... what _happened_? We were just... we were just _reading_, just reading this really old book we found. It had all these strange words, we were just... _curious_! Then... then there was this bright light, and I... I woke up here!"

A really old book with strange words. Blade rolled her eyes, wearily. She had many times thought that people shouldn't mess with things they didn't understand. And reading ancient, cryptic tomes - _especially_ out _loud_ - was one of the worst things you could do in this world.

She looked at her, hesitantly, and then held out a hand. She placed her touch on the girl's shoulder, but then she clung to her, pulling her into a hug. She hesitated, looking down at her, and then somewhat awkwardly put a hand on her hair.

"Where are we?" the girl whimpered, tears falling down her face again, warm and wet on Blade's cold, bare shoulder, "I'm so scared! I... I just want to go home!"

"It's okay, _listen_ to me, it's going to be okay, Elizabeth, _look_ at me."

The girl's grip was tight on her and she shook her head, trying to disentangle her hands, "C'mon, sweetheart, pull yourself together for me, it's okay. It's going to be fine. I promise."

Elizabeth seemed to calm a little, and Blade nodded, slowly. Then, hesitantly, she looked around her, "Now. Where the hell are we."

"The Shadow Court."

* * *

The shadows appeared from nowhere and Blade flinched back, throwing the girl's hands off her and deftly pulling her back, away from them. She reached out and ferociously channelled her Will, feeling the heat as lightning gathered around her hand.

Then, suddenly, she found herself smashed back into the wall. There was a hand, a hand on her neck, constricting, viciously, despite the fact that there was no-one there. Her hand flew to her throat, coughing, trying to pull in some air. She couldn't breathe. She pushed again with her Will, regardless, trying to get them off of her, but her hands were suddenly yanked behind her back, making her stumble slightly, almost fall.

Blade fought, ferociously, trying to force herself away from the corner. Panic was rising up inside of her, she needed to breathe but she couldn't but she needed to breathe _right now_! She could see nothing, but she sensed someone come close to her, leaning right up to her, right to her ear.

"Welcome."

Blade was gasping, trying to choke down just one small breath of oxygen, but nothing was coming, and she could feel it breaking her, feel the life seeping out of her. Elizabeth had her hands over her mouth, her breathing so fast she was practically sobbing again, shaking her head, her eyes wide, fear pulsing off her in waves.

"It's okay." Jaina managed, thrashing, pulling at the invisible bonds, "It's... it's okay, Elizabeth. _Listen_ to me. I'll... protect you. Listen."

She moved her eyes up to the Court.

There were three of them, all tall, regal shadows, standing majestically in front of thrones made of ancient, broken gravestones decorated with human skeletons. She shook her head, slowly, loathing spreading through her eyes, "Get... get... _off_ of me."

The grip tightened for a second and she almost gagged, "One of you carries the Dark Seal."

"Dark... dark seal?" she panted, still fighting for breath.

"You know of what we speak. But there are _two_. Only _one_ is required. One who will trade their youth and beauty so that the King of Thieves may retain his. This is the bargain we honour."

_Bargain_? Anger and fear battled inside her and she fought with whatever was holding her back into the wall. Reaver.

One of the three took a step forwards, and she felt the grip on her throat lessen slightly, "The rules cannot be broken - we will take whoever bears the dark seal." The hand released and she fell to the floor, choking back air, "You must choose. _Quickly_."

Blade gasped back oxygen, still on her hands and knees, forehead brushing the cold stone floor as her chest heaved. Her mind was whizzing round like clockwork. Elizabeth had put her hand on her shoulder, trying to get her back to her feet. The Hero let her, and then locked her eyes with the shadows, "What... do you mean... _choose_."

They didn't reply. A shiver crawled down her spine as realisation passed over her, and she shook her head, slowly, "No. No, I won't do it. I won't."

"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked, desperately.

"I won't."

"What's _happening_?"

"I _can't_."

"_Blade_!"

Blade snapped herself out of it, locking onto the girl's eyes. Tears dripped over her face again and her grip on her wrist was painfully tight, "_What's going on_."

Jaina hesitated. She looked at the girl in front of her. So young. So scared. So weak.

Youth and beauty... Blade had never been a vain person. She had grown up as a _gypsy_, for crying out loud. She had taken the compliments from the men in the camp with good grace, but had never really tried with much enthusiasm to 'perfect' her looks. Apart from that, the... _attentions_ she had gotten from men were, for the most part, unwelcome. One of the reasons that she had been so taken to Michael was that for the first week of their knowing each other he had not called her beautiful. He said that 'beautiful' was too deep a word to throw around. He had called her beautiful on the day they got engaged. And the day she returned from the Spire.

Vain... No, she was not vain. A mirror was, for her, a practicality - an 'ouch, that _did_ hurt, is it infected?' sort of practicality. Everything _about_ her was practicality.

But youth... strength... willpower... that was what a Hero was. That was what she needed to survive.

That was what she needed to defeat Lucien.

She needed her youth. There was no doubt about it. True, after all those years training and, on top of that, her time in the _Spire_, she was hardly _little Sparrow_ any _more_. But at thirty-four she was nearing the peak of her physical strength, and she needed that strength if she was going to face Lucien.

_This wasn't what I wanted. But __**nothing**__ must stand in my way._

Blade looked down at her hands as she realised she was holding something. Sometime during her ferocious mental debate she had taken the Seal out of her pocket. She glanced at it, surprised, feeling the old unease slide over her. She passed the metal from hand to hand, looking at it. Reaver's Dark Seal. Theresa had said there was more to the task than the pirate let on, and she was right. Another trick, another trap. And she'd fallen for it again.

_Fool_. She thought, angrily.

_For Lucien's head... what would you give?_

"Blade?"

The hand on her arm squeezed tighter, and she glanced up. The girl's tear-streaked face stole her gaze, and she moved her eyes up to hers, slowly. She was trying to keep her cool, that was clear. But after what she had gone through tonight, Blade very much doubted _any_one could keep calm. Water spilled down Elizabeth's cheek and she brushed it away, furiously, "Blade. Please. I just... I just want to go home. I just... I want to see my parents again."

Tears came again, and this time she did not try to stop them. Blade looked at her. Even with the tears and the smeared makeup it was clear she was beautiful. Parents. She had parents. Did she have a suitor somewhere? A fiancé, perhaps? She wasn't wearing a ring. Maybe she was a little young for marriage, but, then, Jaina hadn't been much older.

Blade shook her head, slowly. She had realised something else. Somewhere during her oh-so-logical appraisal of the situation, she had forgotten something. _Her_. And, as soon as that girl entered the equation... things got a whole lot more complicated.

_You stand in the centre of a great instrument of change._

Jaina shook her head. She bit her lip. Then she shook her head again, and turned back to the Court, "I... I have chosen."

_With it I shall remake the world, and my creation shall be __**unrecognisable**__... in its perfection._

"You are certain of your choice?"

_No, __**wait**__! Don't! __**NO**__!_

"Yes." She closed her eyes, "Avo. Avo, I'm so sorry."

"What... what d'you mean?" Elizabeth asked, hesitantly.

"This choice cannot be revoked. You must be _sure_."

She shook her head, "Just do it. Do it before I change my mind."

"Blade?" the girl's voice shook.

Blade paused, taking a long, deep breath, steeling herself for what she knew needed to be done. Then she took the Seal out of her pocket, slowly. She moved her eyes away from the shadow's gaze, onto another target. There was only one choice she could make.

* * *


	15. The Prize

**The Prize**

The pirate shifted in his chair and Slater bit his lip hard. With anyone else the painter would have set them straight with a firm word, but this particular model... wasn't just anyone. Instead, he suppressed his grimace and continued as best as he could from this new position. The shadow from the flickering candle had moved on the Pirate King's face, but he could work around that. It wasn't as if he had any _choice_.

Then he moved again and Slater had to fight to keep his cool. He raised an eyebrow, "Something wrong, sir?"

Reaver paused for a moment, frowning. He reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes, a somewhat puzzled expression occupying his features. He shook his head, slowly, "No... not _wrong_, exactly..." he paused again, looking around the room, vaguely, as if searching for something, "But why would she..."

Then, slowly, he smirked. He rose from his chair - something that caused Slater no end of frustration - and turned his back, "If you will excuse me a moment, I have something I must attend to. I assure you, I will not be long."

He twitched, uneasily, but reluctantly stayed at his easel, suppressing a frustrated sigh. He glanced at his painting, and knew straight away he would not be able to get the 'King' back in the same position he had been in before, and this realisation was joined by a shock of irritation and fear. He had been a close associate of Ellen Carver, the last painter commissioned to create a portrait of Reaver. And she had by no means been the first to suffer the pirate's disapproval.

He turned to grab a new set of paints, knowing that by the time Reaver got back from doing whatever the hell he was doing the dye in the ones he had at the moment would have faded.

"Now. Where were we."

Slater span on his heel and then froze. His eyes widened, taking in his face, and he found he couldn't breathe.

"Ah yes. We were just about to discuss the nature of your _skills_." The pirate moved towards him, amazingly swiftly, and raised an eyebrow at his painting, "Which are, apparently, quite lacking..."

The painter just stared at him. He managed to pull himself together slightly, and shook his head, quickly, "That's... that's _impossible_."

He gave a smooth smile, "Not quite. But I'm afraid that's all you'll get out of me. Your _talents_ have caught up with you, _Mr Slater_."

Slater was too busy staring horrified at the face before him to notice the pirate drawing his weapon, and was still staring when he pulled the trigger.

* * *

A storm had hit Bloodstone. Lightning cracked down from the sky, striking at the pier, boats rocking sharply on the violent sea. Thunder roared and rain gushed down in one huge block of water, and the town's inhabitants withdrew from the streets to the safety of their homes, or, more appropriately, local taverns. The Pirate King was in his lounge, drinking a glass of a thick, dark wine, musing on the sound of the gale outside, the fire burning well.

The ridiculously tall house looked twisted in the little light. Mud squelched around her boots. She walked up the steps, slowly, not bothering to hide her footsteps, knowing the storm would mask her arrival. The door didn't creak as it opened. She closed it behind her. Down through the corridor, heat and flickering light behind the half-closed door in front of her. Open enough to go through without even brushing it. Easy.

Blade moved into the room and slammed the Dark Seal down on the table with a sharp, loud bang.

* * *

Reaver looked up, indifferently, and then a slow smile spread onto his face, "_Sparrow_! You're back! How was your journey?"

The woman in front of him didn't say a word. Water dripped from her thick traveller's coat, and she stood perfectly still, watching him.

His eyes flickered down to her hand, still on the table, and smiled at what he saw there, "Ah, of _course_. How are our friends doing. I must say, I'm liking the new look..." he glanced her over. The young Hero's once chestnut hair was pure white, almost platinum, and had grown several inches, ending up just underneath her shoulders. Her eyes were now a bright, sparkling red, and narrowed with an anger he wouldn't have thought possible of the shy, naïve little Hero he had tricked into staying the night all that time ago. She was still wearing her golden mask, and the two colours complemented each other marvellously. The look, amazingly, suited her.

Reaver frowned, looking her over a bit more carefully, noting her smooth, pure skin and sculptured muscles, and then smiled at her, "But still looking as youthful and spirited as ever! Aren't _you_ a tricky one... I do believe the sacrifice has been completed, yes?"

"Yes. Hence your sudden... _rejuvenation_." Her voice was icy cold, the coldest he'd ever heard it, and he suppressed an amused smile at the knowledge that it was he who had made her react this way, "Must've taken ten years off you, am I right? How often do you have to give out your little _seal_, then. How many lives have you _sacrificed_."

He waved his hand, dismissively, "Oh, it is so hard to keep track, little Hero. But, I must say, you're the first to be seen coming back this... _vivacious_. Care to tell me your secret?"

"I sacrificed myself. Instead of the girl."

"How delightfully _Heroic_ of you. Do continue?"

She shook her head, scornfully, "That _is_ my secret. A purely selfless act." She put a hand up to her neck, tugging at a ribbon he hadn't noticed before, and then pulled out a strange sort of pendant, a bright white pendant with a strangely familiar decoration. Her fingers stroked along the engravings, slowly, and then looked back up at him, "This... is the Temple of Light Seal. Apparently being the _Chosen One_ has more fringe benefits than I first thought."

Reaver paused, and found himself remembering Norman's words, 'saved from complete destruction', 'donated a bit of gold to get them back on their feet'. He smiled, slowly, "The will of the Light."

"The will of Avo."

"I think not. Avo has not been worshiped in Albion for centuries."

She raised an eyebrow, seemingly forcefully stemming her anger, "As you would know." She paused, looking at him for a second, thinking. Then she shook her head, "The people I asked about you in town said you'd been in Bloodstone for as long as anyone can remember but look exactly the same. You said you went to the isles of Athesia - Melra - a _few years back_. How long is a few years."

He gave a small, slow smile, "A decade? Two? It is hard to keep track."

"How long _have_ you lived, Reaver."

"My dear, what an impertinent question! How _promising_..."

She shook her head, slowly, "You tricked me. _Again_."

"Yes. You do seem to be quite as naïve as I thought you were..."

She seemed to snap, and took a furious step towards him, "_Naïve_?! I went into that place _knowing_ it was a trap, _knowing_ there was more to that Shadow Court than you let on, how _dare_ you call me naïve."

"Fine, you're not naïve." He replied, mildly, "You're just..." he paused, and then gave a small smirk, "_Desperate_."

He watched with amusement as her anger stepped up a notch, "Listen here, you chauvinistic piece of -"

He held up a hand, stopping her, "Now now, my dear Sparrow, _please_, no need to turn to vulgarities."

She gave a short bark of a laugh, "You think _that's_ vulgar then maybe you should let me _finish_!"

He smirked, "Ah, yes. Forever a gypsy."

Her eyes narrowed, and he smiled again. Then he shook his head, "Now." He got to his feet, taking a few delicate steps towards her, smiling at the look of wary caution that moved across her face, "While we're already chatting, I have a _confession_ to make. While you were away, it occurred to me that... _Lucien_..." he paused, smiling again at the hate that briefly flickered through her eyes at his use of the name. "...is probably a bit miffed that you wandered off without his permission."

He saw her stiffen, her eyes widen, fear pumping through her, already knowing what he had done, but he continued: "Maybe miffed enough to part with a large heap of _gold_ to get you _back_. And you know what? I was _right_!"

Blade shook her head, slowly, "You didn't. Oh Avo, tell me you didn't."

He smiled, "I did. Why, did you think my desire for you would keep you safe? Foolish little girl. So, as fun as this has all been, I'm afraid I must return you to the Spire."

She shook her head again. She had taken a few, slow steps back, towards the door. She held out a hand, as if to keep him away, "I'm not going back there. Nothing you could do could make me, pirate. Nothing in this _world_ could make me go back there."

He smirked, amused, "My dear, I don't believe you have much of a choice."

Her eyes narrowed. The young adventurer's gaze was fixed on him, and he could tell her little, fragile heart had started to pump hard. She licked her lips, unconsciously, her body completely tense. He smiled at her, slowly, knowing exactly what she was going to do.

She yanked a pistol from the holster on her belt, remarkably fast. Not fast enough. He drew his Dragonstomper and fired in one, flowing movement, catching her in the left shoulder.

* * *

Blade crumpled, her pistol falling to the floor, hand seizing the wound, "_Avo_!"

Her breathing stopped and then started again, vicious tugs of oxygen, frantic. She tried to move, tried to get back to her feet, but she couldn't, and her spare hand snapped out reflexively to support her weight on the floor. The movement sent shocks of pain through her twisted shoulder and she fell, her forehead coming to rest on the brown fur rug she had been standing on, blood from the wound seeping through her fingers.

Muttered curses and hisses of pain flittered over her full lips, and she glanced at her shoulder to inspect the damage, grimacing. Reaver could tell even at this distance that he had hit the collarbone, perhaps shattering it, and the bullet was still lodged in the wound, sending horrific pain burning through her whole body. A perfectly placed shot.

Defiant to the end, the girl managed to raise her head, looking at him. Absolute loathing spread through her eyes, and she looked at him then like she would gladly kill him.

He watched her for a moment, crippled on the floor, her heaving breaths racking her whole body, and then moved over to her, casually, "I thought the Shadow Court would give me the necessary means to incapacitate you. But it seems I did not expect your little _deity_ to lay out his cards. So this is the nearest second I can find." He took her chin and turned her face to him. She lashed out, trying to bite him, and he adjusted his grip. He smiled and kept his grip firm, "_Well_, not so shy _now_, _are_ we?"

She yanked her head back, despite the pain he knew the movement caused her, and he laughed, "Now now now, my dear. That's a pure Balverine-fur rug you're bleeding on there! Try not to make your wound any bigger than necessary, will you?"

"Fuck you."

He shook his head, smiling, lazily, "I gave you that option. You chose this one. But even though you technically did refuse me..." he drew a hand along her cheek, smiling, easily recognising his satisfaction at the feel of her soft skin, "No hard feelings, hey?" She tried to yank back again, but this time he held her still, "Nuh-uh. Not this time."

There was a series of low barks from outside the door, scratches, and he winced, "That mutt of yours is going to tear himself through a very valuable oak door." Then he looked back at her, "But it'll take him some time. And when he does -"

"You hurt him and I'll kill you."

"I'm not some cur from The Leper's Arms, Jaina." He said, warningly, "You'd do well to remember that."

She looked at him with loathing, and something about her now veiled features hit him. He adjusted his grip, tugging at the golden ballroom mask covering her eyes, "My apologies, but I feel a sudden compulsion to... see you how I first saw you. Won't take a tick."

He managed to get the mask free and pulled it off over her head with her fancy looking hat, letting her abstractly white hair fall down by her shoulders. Her blood-red eyes locked onto him, seeming to glow with waves of hate. His eyes moved over her, her pained, panting breaths making him slightly hot under the collar. Tears trickled down her face, but not tears of pain or defeat, tears of anger and fury, pushing through her. Her eyes threw daggers at him, and she was grinding down her teeth against the pain and rage so much that a vein was starting to stand out on her neck.

He shook his head, "Oh don't look at me like _that_, sweetie. You would have done the same thing. Well." He gave a small laugh, "Maybe not. But your moralities are no concern of mine."

She shook her head and slowly doubled over again, letting her forehead rest on the floor.

Reaver's eyes moved over the bloodstained rug beneath her, distastefully, and he sighed, shaking his head, "That will cost a pretty penny to replace. But I'm sure _Lord Lucien's_ prize will cover that."

She shook her head, bitterly, "I'd rather die. _Kill_ me. I'm not going _anywhere_ with you."

"You don't _need_ to, my dear. You just need to stay right there. Lucien's men will be here at any moment."

She looked back up, sharply, all colour draining from her face, "Lucien's... Lucien's men? They're coming _here_?"

He nodded, "That is what I said."

Her complete horror struck him as a little odd. Was she this scared of the man? She'd spent a decade in his company before, so he could understand her lack of pleasure at returning. But everything he'd seen about her was determination, strength, pride. There was something here he was missing...

Suddenly she was straightening up, apparently oblivious of the pain, grabbing hold of his shoulder, "Did you tell him your name. Did you tell him why I was here, what I wanted?" he just frowned, watching her, and she shook her head and tightened her grip, "_Reaver_, _answer_ me! _Did you tell him your name_?!"

"I believe I may have."

She gave a small, frustrated snarl, releasing him, "Oh, you _fool_! He was _never_ just after me! He was after _you_, and _you __**led**_ him here! You've damned us _both_!"

He watched her, caution beginning to stir inside him, "What do you mean."

She gave a bark of a laugh, and then, leaning heavily on the wall, wrenched herself to her feet. The pain that movement had caused must have been horrific, but she just gritted her teeth, letting out a low growl of pain, and braced herself against the wall, "We need to leave. We need to get out of Bloodstone. _Now_."

"Why."

"How long has it been since you sent the message? A day, two? Today?"

"Yesterday."

She swore violently under her breath, and Reaver was forced to agree that he had indeed not heard even the mildest of her vulgarities, "It would take them less than a day to travel by shard, they're already here. They were waiting. Waiting for me to get out of Wraithmarsh, _cowards_. Then they'll come up here in force, send as many guards as they can, officers, _Spire Beings_, and they'll just -"

The explosion took them both by surprise, and Blade flinched and then cursed as the movement jerked her wound.

Reaver regained his composure first: "Alright, what exactly was that?"

The girl spun to him, "What the hell do you _think_?!"

He looked at her. It had sounded relatively close, and south, probably down by the waterfront.

He had no more time to think about it when a man he recognised as one of his envoys burst into the room, "Reaver, the city's under attack! By a bloody army! Lucien's men! _Dozens_ of the buggers! And they're looking for _you_!"

Reaver bristled, "_Me_? Lucien and I had a gentleman's agreement! How _dare_ he betray me!" he glanced at the young Hero, incredulously, "And just when I was in the middle of trying to betray _you_! How inconvenient..."

She shook her head, acidly, "Oh, and I suppose an agreement with a _woman_ isn't worth the paper it's written on, chauvinistic bastard, and - by the way - this thing just here? I believe it's called _karma_."

Another explosion shook the room, much closer this time. The damned mutt had burst in with the messenger and was facing the door, hackles raised, fur on end. Jaina's eyes fixed onto the door. "_Tell_ me you've got a way out."

He raised an eyebrow, "Well. In such." He moved casually over to the bookcase and pushed aside a copy of 'The End is Almost Nigh', a book that he admitted to having never read, and then slid the bookcase back to expose his passageway's entrance, "I recommend we flee down this rather handy escape tunnel. Shall we?"

* * *


	16. Playing Boundaries

**Playing Boundaries**

"Smugglers built these tunnels ages ago. I don't think they've been used for about three hundred years..."

Footsteps echoed off the stones walls. Far too loud.

"Oh, no, wait a minute now, I came through here in... _That's_ right... I was consorting with _Ursula_ at the time and Penelope found out, and she set the _house_ on fire while I was sleeping." A thoughtful pause, "With _Andrew_, as I recall. Ah, that would have been two hundred years ago, now... How time flies..."

Reaver walked on for a few more paces before noticing the other, unenthusiastic, indifferent part of the party wasn't by his side anymore. He turned back, though Blade barely noticed. She was back against the wall, hunched slightly, holding her arm up to her chest so it didn't drag down on her shoulder, her other hand pushed onto the wound, blood running freely through her fingers.

The pirate looked her over. She didn't care. Her face was probably ashen white by now, but that was fine. Her upper body was covered in blood, the thick red liquid slipping down her collarbone, staining her corset, but that was fine. Pain was splintering through her whole body, so fresh and sharp that she couldn't move more than an inch. That... wasn't fine.

Boy was by her side, whimpering, pushing his nose against her shoulder. Blade moved her hand and the spurt of blood nearly hit the opposite wall, accompanied by a fresh shot of white-hot pain. She hastily moved it back again. The pain was excruciating, even for her, almost unbearable, so bad she felt physically sick.

Reaver sighed, mockingly, "So much for suffering in silence..." He went to reach for her shoulder, but, reflexively, she smacked his hand away. The move hurt, but, she figured, would probably hurt a lot less than whatever he had intended.

Reaver gave a soft, silky laugh, "My my. A bit tetchy, are we? But you're going to have to stay still for me my dear if you want that .48 out of you."

"I can do it myself." She replied through gritted teeth.

He laughed again, "And just how do you plan on doing _that_."

Blade clenched her hand into a fist, and squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing. This was _really_ going to hurt...

She bit her lip hard, and then looked down at the blood-splattered wound, concentrating viciously. She drew up her Will, and, after only the slightest hesitation, held her hand up to her shoulder, giving one sharp push of Will.

The bullet zinged through her collarbone and out the other side.

Blade's scream echoed down the passage.

Reaver winced, shaking his head, "Well... _that's_ new..."

Weakly, the Hero fumbled for a potion. She managed to drag one out of her pocket, but the quick, sharp movement sent the small glass bottle flying to the floor, rolling out of her reach. She let out a low snarl and tried to reach for it, only to cause a back-in-the-throat whimper as pain coursed through her wound. She leant back, closing her eyes, trying to control the pain. Then she opened them again.

Blade paused. A hand was in front of her. In it was the potion.

She glanced up at the eyes behind it, "A moment of weakness, Reaver?"

He smiled, lightly, "Oh, not in the slightest, my dear."

She ignored him, and flicked the lid off the bottle, bringing it up to her lips and downing it in one. She felt the heat burn across her wound, and leant back on the wall once again, wincing. Shivers ran over her, the intensity of the wound having been quite severe, and she forced herself to breathe through it, grimacing.

Before long, her shoulder was completely healed, no wound at all visible below the bloodstains. Blade wiped most of the blood off her, slowly. No pain. She gave a small sigh of relief, and then struggled to her feet, leaning on the wall behind her, her body still aching from the echo of pain. Boy jumped up and gave an excitable yap, gave her a ferocious lick, and then started off once again down the pathway. Blade sighed, shaking her head, and started to follow him.

The pirate was still watching her, thoughtfully, "Hmm. Barely a scar." He nodded at the other one below it, "I guess that one must've happened too quickly for you to heal, yes?"

"No." she kept going, keeping her eyes on Boy, "That one killed me. Oh, and, by the way, Reaver?"

"Hmm?"

She spun around, and, before he knew it, she had a blade to his throat. She lowered her voice, her suppressed anger making her words come out in an unsteady growl: "You're quick on the draw, I'll give you that. But if you ever try anything like that with me again you'll wish you hadn't. Got me? Now. Let's move."

* * *

The presence of the many Spire Guards surprised Reaver. It didn't Blade. She drew her Daichi and decapitated the waiting guard in one fluid movement.

Reaver raised an eyebrow, lazily, "Some of your friends, _Hero_?"

She didn't rise to the bait, "You could say that." Shots rang out around her and she wheeled back, ducking behind a ridge in the rock, pulling out her crossbow, aiming carefully.

_Schuk schuk schuk_.

Her pace was slow, but her aim was good for someone who tended to lean more towards mêlée combat. She took out two, one via a well-aimed shot in the chest, the other by shooting him off the narrow pathway he was standing on.

Several came running along the path towards them, and she drew her blade. She hesitated for less than a second, glancing over her shoulder at Reaver. He was concentrating on where he was shooting. Truth be told, his aim was amazing, every single shot hitting a target, nearly every one killing it. But, still... she wasn't overly keen on having this pirate watching her back.

Blade shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. She'd gone solo before. She'd gone solo _lots_ of times; in fact, having a companion shooting with her was one of the reasons why she was uneasy. Usually it was kill everyone around you and that was it. Now she had to be a lot more careful.

The Spire Guards drew close, four of them, and yanked out their cutlasses. Blade immediately fell into the fight. Her shoulder no longer burned with the bullet, and she swung her Daichi with ease. At first, as it had done all that time ago in the Spire, guilt cut into her as she took the first down, his collar sparking and deactivating as he took his final breath. But she knew, even if they would _let_ her, she didn't have enough time to deactivate all their collars with her Will. She wasn't even sure if she _could_. Garth was an indescribable sorcerer; her own substantial power was reduced to mediocrity in comparison. She couldn't help them. The thought of Bob entered her mind, and she fought it away, ferociously. She couldn't help them. She couldn't help them. She _couldn't help them_.

A bullet from the gantries just clipped her, sending fire burning along her leg. She faltered and the last guard remaining in front of her immediately took advantage, lifting his booted foot and slamming in down on her thigh. She fell to one knee, pain splitting through her. She managed to pull herself together enough to throw herself to the right, avoiding a blow. All guilt vanished, she yanked her clockwork pistol from its holster and fired as many times as the not very substantial clip would allow, aiming for the shoulders and torso.

She continued pulling the trigger even after the weapon had run dry, even after the guard had already fallen. Then she pulled herself together and dragged herself to her feet, grimacing at the pain in her leg, limping back behind the ridge opposite Reaver.

The pirate's eyes moved over the long thin line of blood staining her long boots and he shook his head, smirking, "Not such a Hero after _all_..."

She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow, "Wanna bet?"

She pulled herself straight and let her eyes flicker over the gantries. The pirate had done well in his efforts, had taken out at least half of them. But there were still enough left for a quick demonstration. Her Will lines pulsed, growing bright enough to illuminate the small nook they were in, and, having already decided on her path, Blade threw her hands out towards the guards. Fire flew from her palms, scorching the air around her, bringing the temperature up a fair few degrees as she pushed with all her might.

_Come on, girl_. A voice murmured softly in her head, _Show him what you're made of._

The fire crackled and there were screams, fire and heat and light, screaming, and within a few seconds it was all over.

Blade paused to catch her breath, hearing the same voice praising her quietly, and then continuing down the rough path, leaving Reaver behind.

* * *

He caught up with her easily, matching her pace, "Was that..?"

She didn't stop, her eyes flickering constantly, scanning the path ahead of them, the former part of her mind still occupied with her surroundings. She popped the cork off another potion and took a few swigs before answering. "Will. Yes. Yes it was."

"How interesting..."

"You've seen my Will before, Reaver." She replied, remembering the time back in his mansion, when she threw him off her.

He gave a small smile, knowing exactly what she was thinking, "Yes... Yes, of course... But this time was a little bit more, shall we say, _conspicuous_."

"You mean _fatal_."

"No. If I had meant fatal I would have _said_ fatal." He shook his head, easily, a small smile moving across his lips, "You really must learn to listen, my dear."

"You've always got an answer for everything, haven't you, Reaver."

"Haven't _you_?"

"I suppose I have. But now I've got to tell you something you... might already have worked out. Do you know why Lucien is hunting you."

He shook his head, lazily, "Not the foggiest, Sparrow."

"Blade. And... no idea whatsoever?"

"Nope. Should I?"

She hesitated, glancing at him. Theresa really was so much better at this... She shook her head, frustrated, and brought up the first thing she thought of: "Roxa told me you were interested in my marks, my _Will_ marks. D'you know why?"

He shrugged, casually, "Well, they _are_ interesting. Whenever I've been fortunate enough to see the most part of your skin they appeared to be missing."

Her skin crawled at the memory, but she kept her voice level: "Will lines sometimes disappear under... _stressful situations_. Also when the user pushes their limits, tries to go above their own head. The second time, against the banshee, I pushed too far, and then I was unconscious, I didn't have time to recuperate them. The _first_ time... Well. I suppose it was my body fighting whatever shit you put in my drink."

"Mmm..." there was silence for a moment, just the occasional drip of water and the pair's clunking footsteps. "How far do they go?"

She shot him a frown, "I beg your pardon?"

"How far do they _go_?" He tilted his head, his eyes searching out the lines across her chest, and then down, to the little skin he could see between her boots and her shorts, once again following them up.

_Kick his ass, love_.

She blushed, furiously, and turned her head so he couldn't see, firmly suppressing her distaste, "Is this really the time?"

"I'm willing to make time. Are you?"

"No. Now shut it. Stay focussed."

He smiled, lazily, "Oh, I always am, my dear. _Always_."

Blade stopped in her tracks, for a moment forgetting herself, and rounded on the pirate, "What do you want from me."

He smirked, "Well..."

She held up a hand, "No. Listen to me. I want you to look me right in the eyes and tell me what you want from me. 'Cause it wasn't just the Court, it wasn't just the money, and it sure as hell isn't just sex - you could fuck any woman in town. _Or_ man."

He raised an eyebrow, amused, "Trust a gypsy to put it so _elegantly_..."

"Exactly. So tell me. Just why the hell are you after _me_."

The pirate paused for a moment, as if thinking about it. Then he shook his head, "You're the only one that's said no."

She stared at him, sceptically, "That's it? You want what you can't have? No, I'm not buying it. What do you _want_, Reaver. What is going on in that skull of yours that's making you chase me." She cocked her head to one side, trying to read him the way she so easily read others, trying to see through the pirate exterior and into the man underneath, "Is it pride? Fear? Am I, what, a symbol to your insecurities? A sort of 'if-one-can-refuse-me-then-so-can-others' thing?"

"Insecure?" he repeated, cocking an amused eyebrow, "_Hardly_."

"Then what _is_ it."

He paused for a moment, watching her. Then he gave a small, lopsided smile, "I want to break through that wall. I want to break through _your_ pride."

"Why." She asked, emotionlessly.

He shrugged, casually, "Vague curiosity. I thought it might be interesting to see the Hero brought down to the same level as the people she so longs to save," he gave a slow smile, "Down to the same level as the people she so longs to _kill_."

"Lucien."

He smirked at her anger, "That's the chap. I thought it might prove an interesting pastime. You're a beautiful woman, _Sparrow_. And I was slowly working you down."

"Testing my limits."

"If you like. With all that strength..." he paused, and then smiled again, "It's all leading up to one hell of a fall, my dear. Trust me on that."

"I wouldn't trust a pirate to tell me the sky is blue."

He didn't reply. Just smirked.

Blade looked at him. Her heart was starting to pound. Joy. Another Commandant. And seeming just as intent on breaking her as the _first_ abomination...

_Don't you let him, Jaina_. That voice in her head ordered, firmly, the voice she recognised, knew so well, and yet couldn't place, _Don't you __**dare**__._

She shook her head, slowly, anger building inside of her, "I'm not the breaking sort of person, Reaver." She said, quietly, "I don't break so easily."

"Oh, that's okay, my dear. I just _love_ a challenge."

"A challenge is one thing. This is another. I can assure you, Reaver... many people have tried."

He smirked, "Yes, but how many of them got as far as _we_ did, my dear Sparrow. In fact, if I had not made that little comment about your sweet _Michael_, _well_... who _knows_ how far you would have gone."

"How far _I_ would have gone?" she repeated, furiously, her anger finally hitting its peak. His smile broadened and she turned away from him for a second to try and control herself, only to end up spinning back around in an attempt to hit him across the face as hard as she could.

* * *

Reaver caught her by the wrist and slammed her back into the wall, drawing his pistol and forcing it up under her chin so fast she barely had time to draw in a breath.

Her hands automatically grabbed his arms, trying to yank him away, but then he clicked down the hammer and she froze, staying absolutely still.

"That was very impolite of you, Jaina," he mocked, pressing harder on the pistol so he pushed her chin up, forcing her head back into the wall, "I told you back in the manor that you wouldn't want to do that again. But you didn't _listen_, _did_ you." He stroked the line of her cheekbone with the barrel of the gun, gently, "Maybe it's time to see just how Heroic you are..."

Blade managed to suppress her flinch, "Get that thing out of my face." She said, quietly.

He glanced at the Dragonstomper, "What, this?"

"Yes. That. Get it off me. Now."

"I didn't hear a please."

"And you won't get one." One hand released his arm and the other tightened, her heart pounding in her throat, "Get the _fuck_ off me."

Reaver gave a soft laugh. "What makes you think I won't kill you." His voice was a low, dangerous purr, "I _could_. You _know_ I could."

Her eyes burned, anger boiling away her fear, and she made sure he heard the sound of her pistol cocking by his head.

_

* * *

_

_Smooth move, sweetheart. **Now** you've got him._

Reaver raised an eyebrow. He glanced to his right, casually, and was rewarded by an increase of pressure from the cold metal barrel on his temple.

"Do it." Blade whispered, allowing danger and warning to flood through her tone, "Shoot me. 'Cause, seriously, it would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to have a conversation with you, and, if I'm going down... you're coming with me."

A small lopsided smile moved over his lips, "You think you're as fast as me?"

"I think I'd have a fair shot."

He looked at her for a moment, "Why aren't you afraid?" the question was perfectly causal, perfectly idle. Perfectly _Reaver_.

"If you had wanted to kill me you'd have done it already."

"And what makes you think my desires haven't changed?"

She looked at him for a moment, her neck aching dully from the pressure of the barrel still on her throat, "You want to test my limits? You want to see how far you can push me, see how far you can make me go, see what you can reduce me to? You want to break me?"

He smirked, slowly, "Yep."

She paused, biting at her lip for a moment, and then shook her head, and yanked the pistol away from him, shooting the Spire Guard that had been trying to sneak up on them smack in the forehead. She shoved her way out of Reaver's grasp, oblivious of his weapon, and then turned to him, "Never. You hear me? _Never_."

She turned her back, picking her way down the rocky path, concentrating on her step, her pistol still held ready in her hand.

"What makes you so sure."

She turned back to him. She paused for a moment, thinking. "Someone tried to test my limits before. You know what happened to him?"

Reaver smiled, "Pray tell."

"We got into a fight. He cut one of the main arteries in my legs, threw me to the floor. He leaned over to whisper something in my ear and I took a stolen blade and slashed open his throat. I killed him, he's dead." She held him there for a moment, and then turned, making her way back down the path, "If you are in the position, however, I suggest you don't try to do the same. The collars are strong; no blade will cut through them. I only managed to get the angle right because he thought I was dying, no threat."

"_Were_ you dying?"

She thought about it for a second, "Yes. But believe me when I say I'm used to it. Come on."


	17. An Old Friend

**An Old Friend**

Blade scrubbed at the blood on her hands. At any other time, in any other place, she might have laughed at the way her guilt and pain worked its way out into a physical act. But this was hardly the sort of situation that could be laughed at.

_It's okay, hon. You're fine. You're doing great._

Blade nodded at the voice. She had long since realised who the voice sounded like: Michael. She had always had, well, a good imagination - she'd always been able to more _hear_ than remember. And his voice coming back right now, when she needed him the most... it was just what Michael was so good at. Being there when she needed him.

The sound of a hammer clicking home snapped through her ears and she reflexively threw herself to the floor, rolling to the right, sensing more than hearing the bullet pierce the ground to her left, drawing her golden crossbow in one, flowing movement. She threw out a fireball in the direction of the sound to light the path, and then, catching sight of a tall, dark shadow, fired as rapidly as she could. She heard the horrific sound of a bolt meeting flesh followed by a pained grunt, and then a crash as the Spire Guard plummeted to the floor.

Reaver was taking out more to her right and she conjured another fireball, this time cloaking it with a shield, pushing it up to the ceiling so the whole cavern was filled with a fiery light.

_Finally, a level playing field._

Gunshots racketed through her ears from all sides and Blade fought ferociously, alternating between her crossbow and Will, throwing out walls of power to send the guards flying back off the gantries. A blade sliced up her arm and curses moved over her lips. She jerked round and caught the next blow on her sword. Her burning red eyes flickered up and caught their yellow opposites, and, for a moment, she froze under the Spire Being's gaze.

_Call them whatever you want, they're monsters. I __**saw**__ him, I saw what he did to you. He was pure evil._

She threw out a hand, knocking back the others with a blast of Will, and then took on the Commandant-thing alone. Fierce blows rained down on her and she was forced to block each and every one, the thing giving her no opening for an attack. A particularly fierce blow shook her and managed to push her back a bit, colliding painfully with the wall. Her heart pounded.

The officer caught up with her and took another swing. This time she barely dodged it. Blade bit the inside of her cheek with something that could have been fear. This one was good. _Very_ good. The Being seemed to guess what she was thinking, and gave a slow smirk.

Anger burned, and she beat back his next swing, letting out a low growl as she felt again the pure skill of the person in front of her.

Blade took a brutal swing at him that he just managed to block. He smiled, savagely, and she snapped. They fought ferociously fast. There was no more dodging and parries, only vicious blows and furious attacks, and, before long, Blade finally found her opening and buried her Daichi deep into the thing's chest.

She yanked her blade out, the croaked, metallic screams ringing through her brain and, somehow, her heart, but she made a valiant attempt to bottle it up, and turned to the next target.

* * *

Some time during the non-stop fighting, Blade found herself back next to Reaver, fending off a flurry of attacks from Spire Guards and also forced to dodge bullets from the scaffoldings.

Reaver glanced at her, frowning slightly, looking almost puzzled, "How many men does he _have_ down here? They're positively _oozing_ out of the stonework."

He shot again, yanking down the trigger quickly, three bullets killing three targets.

Blade winced as the gunshots echoed through her ears, "Mind not doing that so close to me?"

"Oh, and I'm sure you'd rather I let them kill you."

She gave a growl and threw out a bolt of lightning to fry a too cocky guard, "I can handle myself."

He laughed, easily, "Oh, sweetheart. Don't you worry your pretty little head about _these_ chaps. I can get us out of here. I mean, I am me, aren't I?"

Blade grinded her teeth and forced herself not to snap back. Though, she had to admit, the pirate's obvious disdain of her skills and the anger this brought up in her really did seem to help her game. She took out two guards with one long sweep of her blade and then sent a fireball smack into the face of another, all within three seconds of each other.

Another patrol burst through the door, about fifty of them, and Blade couldn't stop a low, weary groan. The pirate had a point. Lucien _really_ wanted them.

_If Lucien gets his hands on either of you it's the end of everything._ Theresa said inside her mind, urgently,_**GO**__._

"Easier said than done, Theresa!" she snarled, calling her Will to her as she brought up a particularly useful spell.

_Show 'em what you're made of_.

She released the power and the air around them stilled, drew to a halt. Bullets around her paused, and then continued towards her at a much slower pace, and the Spire Guards were slowed, moving as though running through thick mud.

She drew her pistol, and, wincing already at the dishonourable action, shot the men where they stood. She managed to get through about thirteen before the spell faded and they ran towards her again, their collars leaving them no room to express the surprise they felt at their suddenly deceased comrades.

Blade sent lightning flying threw their bodies, freezing them to the spot as the power jerked through their frames, fried their senses. She pushed again, fiercely, the energy fizzing through the air around her, the wind blowing back her now snow-white hair, storm clouds gathering, swirling around the cave roof, thunder crashing. The power of the Time Control spell had weakened her a little, and this spell was adding to her weariness, but she kept going, she needed to get rid of all of them, _all_ of them.

Another ferocious shove of Will had her on her knees, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, but hands still out, still pushing, still forcing out power. Tears froze on her cheeks as the temperature dropped dramatically, wind forcing her head back down, howling around her.

When her body started to shudder at the drain she finally called the power off, collapsing onto all fours, panting heavily. She felt heat flood her body and saw the room lighten once again through her eyelids, but she kept them closed. She needed to recuperate her Will. _Now_.

A bullet hit the ground somewhere close by and she forced her head up. Still some left on the gantries, ones she hadn't seen. Blade unashamedly backed out of the fight, allowing the last men to Reaver, dragging herself out of their direct firing line.

Boy yapped from the sidelines, still buried in the fight, taking out the few guards that hadn't been killed by Reaver, growling and snarling at any who attempted to come nearer, keeping them back.

An explosion racketed around her - Reaver had hit one of the volatile barrels left behind by the people who made the tunnels - followed by the triumphant yells of the Spire Guards who now had a new entrance into the caves. Blade winced, knowing she should get to her feet, knowing she should assist in any way she could, but unable to move more than an inch.

There was a thump as someone collided with the stone beside her, and a series of low snarls. Reaver. Metal against metal, blows, parries, pained grunts and gunshots.

Blade made a groan against the cold stone that brushed against her lips, and managed to push herself up very slightly, one hand automatically sliding towards her Daichi.

The weapon slipped out of her grip, and she frowned. The sharp sound of metal scraping along stone pierced through her ears and she winced again. A hand grabbed her shoulder, jerking her to her feet.

_Get the hell off me, Reaver!_ Her mind snarled, but she begrudgingly accepted his 'help', pushing a hand back against the wall to stabilise her.

Then the hand moved, sliding easily across her shoulder and up to her throat, squeezing, pushing her back against the rock, roughly, and that wasn't Reaver, that wasn't the pirate with all his ruffs and frills and glamour, this was a hard, gloved hand, muscular, low on her throat and squeezing tight, stopping her air. Blade managed to yank her head round a little, catching sight of the man in front of her for the first time.

The Guard seemed to smile below his mask, "Didn't think you would make it so easy." She glared at him, fighting with the grip on her neck, and he laughed, "You don't recognise me, do you? Don't know my voice... Well. Let's see if you can tell from the face."

He let go of her neck with one hand, still pinning her to the wall, firmly, and dragged the mask off his head.

* * *

The hand on her throat stopped her from gasping. The guard smiled, seeing the reaction, "Well well well... Recruit 273... Long time no see."

His grip was so tight she had to pant for breath, "Bradshaw!"

He smirked, "That's Officer 249 to you, darling."

"Get... get the fuck off me." she managed, her voice cracking with the strain on her windpipe, her hands clawing at his.

Bradshaw smiled again, favouring her with another quick clench of her neck, "Oh, I don't think so, sweetheart. Forever the Arena pit dog, I see." He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the fight behind him, "And it seems you've taken another into your pack... A _pirate_, none the less..." he paused, and then looked back at her, smiling, "What would dear little _Michael_ say..."

Anger flared inside of her. She glanced over his shoulder, quickly. The Spire Guards had gotten too close and Reaver had been forced to pull out what looked like a rapier to fend off their attacks. Blade noted with some unease that he was not nearly as proficient with the mêlée weapon.

She turned her attention back to '249'. It was all she could to stop herself from choking on the little air she could get in, and he shifted his hand, pressing his fingers to her neck so he could feel her throbbing pulse. He smirked, and then pushed forwards again, lowering his head to hers and brushing his lips across her cheek. She jerked her head to one side, the movement sending pain stinging through her windpipe as it twisted against Bradshaw's tight grip.

One hand slipped off, moving down towards her pistol, but the guard saw, and tightened his grip so much that she almost gagged, her hands returning reflexively to grapple with his. Her neck had been ultra-sensitive ever since the Spire, after being mangled for all those years by the collar, and the pressure on her throat was sending jolts of old pain streaming through her, scrambling her senses.

Bradshaw laughed, "No so tough anymore, are you?"

She opened her mouth, and he released her throat just enough that she could speak. "You neither," she managed, choking out the words, "Without... your precious _collar_."

"I don't need the collar to keep you under control, darling."

"I wasn't... under control... _with_ the collar." She growled, fighting hard with his hold.

Deftly, he tightened his grip, pushing so much her head jerked back against the wall, "Hmm... well, of course you'd _think_ that. What with the whole memory loss thing..." he caught the flash of uncertainty that moved through her eyes and smiled, "What, don't you remember? Back in the Spire... that time in solitary... just you and me?"

She looked at him, her heart beating fast, matching her shallow, panting breaths. Yes, she _did_ remember. That first time she had managed to kill a guard, Officer 198, after the Commandant had sent him to punish her for refusing to torture a worker on his whim. She had been thrown into solitary for about a week. Bradshaw had come in on the last day. Sent by the Commandant again, no doubt. And then... she couldn't remember.

She remembered... the collar being activated. Repeatedly. _Viciously_. Mark-one pulses: officers with no restraint and no logic. Tore through your skull like it was made of butter. She remembered... darkness.

No. She hadn't... But she had passed out, she _must_ have. And he...

She glared daggers at him, and Bradshaw smiled, "Oh, seems she's remembering _now_. Dear little Michael, he's really getting hit after hit, isn't he?"

She shook her head, viciously, "You're... a goddamned liar."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"And why's that."

"'Cause... the collar..."

He smirked, "We were _told_ to break you, my dear. At any cost."

"Even... disobeying orders? Don't think so. Unconscious... That's not breaking. Would have no effect. That's just... gratuitous violence, and your... _Lord_... wouldn't have allowed that. _Would_ he."

Her hand jerked towards her pistol again, and, again, he merely clenched down on her throat, crushing the effort in one deft move. He laughed, silkily, "And how would you presume to know what _my Lord_ wishes, 273? _Lord Lucien_ wishes you _dead_." He released her throat with one hand, taking his clockwork pistol, sharpened the pressure with the other so his grip stayed constant, pressing the barrel to her temple, "And I'm afraid I'm here on his command."

Blade watched the movement with a clouded mind. She couldn't breathe. She was dizzy. Everything was going black.

Bradshaw gave a slow smile, "Any last words, 273?"

Blade opened her mouth again, as if she wanted to speak. 249 generously loosened the grip on her throat - such a _gentleman_ - and she promptly spat in his face.

"Fuck you." She snarled, her voice broken and weak but vicious.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and gave a small, grim laugh. He clenched his hand shut, completely removing any little availability of oxygen that she once had. She couldn't even gasp. Dizziness snapped into place. Bradshaw gave her a small smile. Then clicked down the hammer on his pistol.

* * *

Blade's body jerked as she felt rather than heard the shot. The hand was wrenched off her neck and she pulled in a quick, strangled gasp, quickly releasing it and yanking in another breath, her body lurching, choked it back out, brought in another. Her wide eyes flickered over the scene in front of her, her heart pounding in her chest. Bradshaw was on the floor to her left, the back of his head blown out, blood and liquidised flesh covering the wall behind him, dripping thickly onto the floor.

Blade's gaze moved, quickly. Reaver stood a few feet away from her, smirking, his pistol still raised. He saw her change of attention and cocked an eyebrow, "These lads aren't particularly sporting, are they? You'd think they'd be more honourable than picking a fight with a woman."

Anger quickly clouded over, ridding her of her confusion and fear. She shook her head, slowly, her expression deadly, and then picked up her Daichi and turned her back on him, picking her way down the caves again.

He caught up with her, "What, no word of gratitude?"

"My _gratitude_, pirate, is my not making you pay for your remark just there. Now let's get the hell out of these tunnels, shall we?"

"Oh, dear Sparrow, you're so cold." He mocked, shaking his head.

She glanced at him, "Oh yes? And why, exactly, did you shoot him. Why made you shoot Bradshaw."

"You were... colleagues?"

She didn't like the frankly licentious spin he had put on the word. "Purely professional." She replied, acidly.

He smirked, "Didn't look like it to me, love."

Blade rubbed a hand consciously across her cheek, ridding herself of the feel of his lips, "Yes. Well. Let's just say we didn't quite have the same understanding of the word 'professional'."

"Hmm... interesting..."

"He was a fool. He was ignorant puppet, a complete slave to his collar. He didn't even _try_ to fight it. He tortured and he captured and he killed, without mercy and without regret. He was the cause of many of these." She pulled her hair back, still moving, allowing him to see the scars lacing her neck, "And the reason I had to create _these_." She brushed a hand over her arm, the scars, the one broken word, _Rose_.

"So you are glad that he is dead." He completed, nodding.

She shot him a scathing look. Then she shook her head, not replying.

He frowned at her, curiously, "You don't want to answer that, do you? Strange... does your anger at what this man has done to you not surpass your incomprehensible beliefs of right and wrong? Would you feel _responsible_ should you admit to relishing the death of this one cur? _Guilty_, perhaps?" he surveyed her for a second, amusement glinting in his eyes, "My my, an _emotional_ one, _aren't_ we?"

"Not particularly." She replied, coolly, "I don't relish _any_ deaths, Reaver, that's just who I am."

"Oh, of course, you are just working under the reign of your precious _Avo_."

She gave a bark of a laugh, "_That's_ even _further_ off course. I'm not a particularly religious person, Reaver, the Light just happens to be on the same path as mine."

He smirked, "Says _the_ _Chosen One_..."

She blushed despite herself, and then shook her head, firmly, "I saved them, yes. I saved them because I am not a moral-less, despotic pirate. The Temple helped me a lot when I first came to Oakfield. I wanted to return the favour. And you haven't answered me."

"Haven't I?"

"Why did you shoot Bradshaw. Why didn't you just let him kill me."

He paused for a moment, thinking, matching her pace easily, "He kissed you."

"_So_?"

He shrugged, casually, "So I was just reclaiming what was mine."

She looked at him, incredulously, "_Possessive_, aren't you? And I'm not yours. No way in hell."

Reaver gave a small, lopsided smile, "Ah yes, of course... _Michael_... Maybe we should attempt a repeat display?"

She stopped, turning on him, "If you go for my family you better _hope_ you're as immortal as you say you are 'cause I will find you and I will kill you, and I'm betting you won't be _nearly_ as difficult to kill as Lucien who has the whole power of the _Tattered Spire_ on his side. Is that clear."

He smiled and shook his head, "My my..."

"_Is that clear_." She repeated, firmly.

His smile didn't fade, "Maybe you should pay more attention to your surroundings rather than my small talk."

He nodded behind her. Blade glared at him, but, grudgingly, followed his gesture.

* * *

Blade cursed before she could stop herself and then quickly ducked behind a ridge. Her heart pounded in her chest, but that was the only noise she could hear. Seems the guards hadn't heard her. Fantastic.

She pulled out her gun, quickly, but before she could even cock it, Reaver put his hand over hers, pushing her pistol to the ground. She glanced up at him, frowning, and he gave her what he probably thought was a dashing smile, "Allow me, my dear."

He released her hand and took hold of his Dragonstomper, pulling it up. Before she could object he turned the corner, took less than a second to aim, and then fired six shots in such quick succession that his pistol appeared a blur, killing each one of the Spire Guards instantly.

Blade joined him, her eyes wide, "Fuck me." She said, impressed, her eyes moving over the devastation in front of her, her voice slightly shaky despite herself, feeling a strange mix of a marksman's appreciation and a sane person's fear.

The pirate turned his glittering smile back onto her, "Well, since you asked so _delicately_..."

His hand was back on hers. Blade glanced down, and the admiration faded from her face, returning to her usual nonchalant disgust. She brushed him off her, quickly, shaking her head, and continued on to check the guards' life signs. She needn't have bothered - each shot had been an amazingly accurate shot to the head, making a small entry wound and blasting off the back of the skull.

She shook her head again, forcefully ridding herself of her diverse emotions, and then continued down the path. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and as she walked the path started to rise, steeping upwards. Blade got to the end, yanking a few barrels and piles of thatch and throwing them casually to one side, away from the exit. She stepped outside.

Blade winced and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and was rewarded with a sight she had not been expecting.

* * *


	18. When All Hell Breaks Loose

**When All Hell Breaks Loose**

"_Hammer_!"

"Blade!" the Hero of Strength dragged her forwards into a bone-breaking hug, then glanced over her shoulder, "Garth, they're over here!" she turned back, withdrawing a little to let her breathe, "Theresa told us you'd be here, and she was right, as always! Good to see you again! Hope we didn't miss too much! How _are_ you? How was Bloodstone? Sorry we weren't here with you. What you been up to? Why did you dye your hair? What's up with your eyes?"

Blade smiled, taking the quick-fire questions in her stride, shaking her head, "Fine, an experience, don't worry about it, pretty much everything, and, to the last two... it's a long story. What happened in Brightwood?"

"Cullis Gate went mental. Backfired. Sent us two back to the Guild, for some odd reason. Sorry for callin' you a slag, by the way."

The Hero shook her head, "Darling, if you had to apologise for every time you called me a slag we would be here all day."

"Hey, I'm not that bad!"

"She is." Garth appeared beside them, shooting her a small smile, "We meet again, Hero."

"Yeah, we've gotta stop bumping into each other like this, haven't we?"

"Indeed. Sorry about the barbarian."

Hammer gave him a light, playful thump around the shoulder, causing him to stumble slightly, "Shut it, Will user."

Blade's smile grew. Barbarian... It seemed the previous insult had been moulded into a nickname. Nothing new there, then...

The Hero shook her head, and then her brown eyes moved, widening slightly as they caught sight of something over her shoulder, "And this must be..."

She glanced at what she was looking at, and Reaver's presence came as a shock - she had forgotten all about him in the delight of their reunion. "Yes." She said, finally, her voice firmly level, "This is Reaver."

"The pirate." Garth finished, coolly, and, despite herself, she warmed to the fact that he had seemed to take an instant dislike to the man.

"I'm Hammer." Hannah said, for once taking the diplomatic route, "And this is Garth. It's nice to meet you."

"Hammer." The pirate repeated, silkily, "Hammer and Blade... how cliché..."

"Leave it out, Reaver." Blade warned, instantly, her voice a low growl.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my dear." He replied, smoothly, smiling slightly. He turned back to Hannah, keeping the smile, "Hammer... charmed, I'm sure."

"It's good to have you here." She continued, her voice as earnest as Jaina had ever heard it, "Seriously. We've heard a lot about you."

"Good to know... But that would make you the one who sent our friend to my home? I have much to thank you for!" he shot Jaina a wink, smiling, "I don't even know where to _begin_..."

Hammer frowned. She glanced at Blade, uncertainly. Her eyes flickered down and her frown deepened. Blade bit her lip, knowing her old friend was looking at the deep purple marks tarnishing her throat, thinking, wondering, knowing exactly what they were and also knowing she hadn't had them back in Brightwood.

Blade gritted her teeth, "Now isn't the time for this, Reaver."

He continued, regardless: "And _you_ of course were the one who reacquainted me with dear Roxa! Hmm... I do hope she wasn't lost to your little friends, Hero. What a waste that would be..."

She looked at him, heart pounding in her hands, her expression deadly, her voice hushed in her anger: "A waste?" she repeated, slowly, viciously, "She is a human being, _pirate_."

"Mm, yes, I know. Such a sweet young girl, so..." he paused, searching for words, and then smirked, "_Eager to please_..."

_Kick this guy's ass __**now**__!_ Michael snarled in her head.

She shook her head, anger splitting through her, snapping in that typical way she did: "Reaver, shut up, by the _Light_, shut the _fuck_ up!"

"Whoa, _Blade_!" Hammer sounded both shocked and impressed, probably having never heard her curse before - and certainly not as _violently_, "What's got into _you_?"

"Give him a few minutes, you'll find out for yourself." She growled, shaking her head.

The pirate smiled, lazily, "Well, as much as I enjoy all this talk of myself getting into my dear little Jaina here, I'm afraid I must be leaving."

He took a few steps and Blade immediately darted forwards, securing a tight hold just above his wrist, "You're not going anywhere. I kept my end of the bargain, Reaver. And I'm gunna make sure you keep yours."

He raised an eyebrow, and then glanced mildly down at the hand on his arm. Blade paused for a moment, and then released him, because, though she was a Hero, she was far from suicidal. He noticed, and gave a small, lopsided smile, "Very wise, my dear. You finally picked the safe option."

Blade gritted her teeth, forcing down her anger, and shook her head, disgustedly.

The Hero of Strength was frowning, looking back and forth between the two. She hesitated, and then, mercifully, changed the subject: "So, uh... you all got out alright, I see?" she nodded at the floor, "Including the fur-ball."

Boy gave an indignant bark and ran to her side. She smiled and stroked a hand over his head, "Yeah, I was talking about you. How did you get on in those tunnels, eh, Boy?"

"Sounded like a massacre." Garth added, his voice grave, "Are all the soldiers gone?"

Blade shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at the cave entrance, "We took out any that saw us, not that we had a choice in the matter - they're out for our blood. But... yeah. They're gone, most of them."

Hannah nodded, slowly, her expression suddenly sober, "Far away, I hope. I... I don't know how much more killing I can stand. Balverines and bandits behind every rock and tree, and every one I kill, two more take its place."

Jaina looked at her, quickly moving towards her, putting a hand on her arm. Something had changed here. Concern flickered through her eyes and as she looked her friend over, closely. All this death... it was draining her.

Reaver took a step forwards, smiling slightly, "Well. The Hero has an identity crisis. I'm _touched_. Seems you're not the _only_ emotional one of the bunch, _Sparrow_."

Hammer frowned, glancing up at him and then back, "Did he just call you...?"

Blade nodded, firmly keeping her anger in check, "Yes. Yes he did." She paused, and then managed to force a grim smile, "He does that." She glanced at him herself, and then noticed he was still holding his Dragonstomper. The sight filled her with unease and anger, and she shook her head, disgustedly, "Put your damned weapon away, Reaver."

"Before someone gets hurt, yes." He completed, still smiling. He clipped his pistol back into its holster, slowly. He caught Hannah's eyes lingering on it, and smiled again, "Beauty, isn't she. Dragonstomper .48. Only six were ever made, you know. For... _six lucky people_. Well. Not _all_ that lucky. I've killed four of them so far... And, oh yes..." ignoring the Hero's horrified look, he turned back to the cave entrance, "Three, two, one."

* * *

An explosion racked through the floor around them, sending Blade jolting back a little, her heart skipping a beat. The tunnel roof caved in, earth and wood crunching down to totally conceal the cave entrance, sealing it completely.

Reaver raised an eyebrow, turning back to her, "And any other lurking nasties in the tunnel will now have... a bit of a headache." He gave a small, smug smirk that made Blade's fingers twitch towards her Daichi, "I know, I know, I saved us all. Aren't I nice. That's the... _third_ time I've saved your life, now, isn't it, my dear? Maybe we should just call it even, what d'you say?"

She rounded on him, ferociously, lowering her voice to an angry whisper: "You spiked my drink and tried to take advantage of me in your own home, _twice_. You sent your goddamned guard dog out to follow me. I saved your pit of a town from one _bitch_ of a banshee and you repay me by healing my wounds and then holding Lucien over me to try and get me to sleep with you. I refuse and you send me off to sacrifice my _youth_ for you. Then, whilst trying to _sell_ me to _Lord Lucien_, you shattered my shoulder blade with one of your goddamned .48 bullets. Maybe we should just call it very much _un_-even, what d'ya say."

Her outburst seemed to have little to no effect on him, save broadening his smile, "Well, when you put it like _that_..."

Blade shook her head, disgustedly, and turned away, moving swiftly along the sandy beach, Hannah at her side, "C'mon. Let's get out of this hell hole before I'm forced to kill someone."

Hannah waited until they were a fair distance away before asking her, lowering her voice: "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"I've never seen you so... _angry_. What did he _do_?"

"Not enough to make me this pissed, though he has been quite an infuriating bastard." She paused for a second, and then shrugged, begrudgingly, "He... I... I'm angry because... I'm angry at _myself_. Sometimes I'm so goddamned naïve I wonder how I _survive_ this Hero stuff."

"What did he do." She repeated, insistently.

"I said don't worry about it. I'm fine. I promise you, Hammer, I'm fine. I just... need to get the hell out of here."

They turned a tight corner, suddenly throwing a small quay into light, with one docked ship.

Reaver bounded to her side, smiling again, "Ah, there's my ship now! _The Reaver_." He glanced at her, casually, "I was going to call her _The Narcissus_, but there was already one in the registry."

Blade looked at him for a second, not quite sure whether he was being ironic, hoping to _Avo_ he was, and then shook her head, settling for a polite courtesy: "She's a nice boat."

"Yes, that she is. And in a few movements I'll be using her to sail away to safety."

"You're_ not going __**anywhere**_, Reaver." She repeated, firmly, shaking her head, "I thought I made that clear."

"Oh, you did. But I'm afraid the words of one little _Hero_ aren't enough to make me change my mind."

"Hero?"

Jaina heard Garth's call, but didn't acknowledge it, anger burning through her, "I sacrificed myself to the King of Shadows for you, Reaver. This is _not over_."

"But you _didn't_, my dear, _did_ you? If you _recall_ your little _deity_ provided the youth _for_ you."

"_Hero_? I think you should look at this..."

"_Actually_, if I _recall_, I _did_ sacrifice my youth - Avo just granted it _back_."

The pirate shook his head, easily, "Trivial technicalities, my dear Sparrow. But I admire your persistence."

"Blade? Really, I really think -"

"Reaver, don't you _dare_!"

"Goodbye, my dear. See you around, maybe."

"_Blade_!"

She turned to him, impatiently, "_What_?"

* * *

The explosion of the massive Spire Shard wrecking Reaver's ship made the ground buck beneath her feet, throwing Jaina to the floor. She quickly righted herself, staring in horror at the burning carcass of wood and fabric, her eyes following it as it sunk slowly into the sea.

Reaver raised an eyebrow, managing once again to push all of his surprise into this one small movement, "Or... _not_... Right. _Well_... Plan _B_..."

Garth yanked them back away from the Shard, "There's no escape from here - we'll have to destroy it!"

Hammer was panting, shaking her head, slowly, something like weariness attacking her frame, "Just never enough..."

The Hero of Skill shook his head, scathingly, "Ah, I see. I presume this sort of thing happens to you people on a regular basis?"

Blade shot him a barbaric grin, "Yep. Sorry, didn't I mention it?"

"Watch out!"

Hannah threw the Heroes back with one sweep of her arm, just in time to avoid a vicious stream of energy from the Shard. Jaina bounded once again to her feet and yanked out her blade, readying herself, her eyes moving over the bay near to the Shard, knowing well what was coming next.

Her theory was proved correct as the sand started shifting, glowing, mist spreading across in one, neat circle.

Blade manipulated time in one short shot, and before the Spire Guards had even arrived she was behind them, driving her sword through a back, using all of her strength to rip it back out, not pausing, cutting down another and another and another, pain splitting across her as they finally seemed to notice the whirlwind that she was, killing all in her path. She disappeared from sight and before a guard could blink a ferocious kick to the back of his thigh threw him to the floor, a blade easily slashing through the spine at the ball of his neck.

Jaina ducked and whirled between the men, taking them all on at once, occasionally releasing her two-handed grip on her weapon to send out a burst of lightning or fire into the mix, enemies on all sides of her being torched and zapped, the collars forcing them to forget their fear, even their self-preservation.

There was a sick crunch and a body suddenly flew to her right as a huge war hammer slashed out around her. Hammer had joined the fray. She could tell from the occasional randomly felled foes that Reaver was also somewhere nearby too, but she didn't stop to check.

A guard she hadn't seen advanced on her, cocking his pistol, but was stuck through by a shimmering, golden sword, and Jaina ducked the next swing, no time to turn and thank Garth for his timely intervention. Three guards were hurled aside as she threw out her arm, the Will lines on her skin sparking with the effort, and she saw Boy descend on them moments later, snarling, teeth bared.

Together they finished the first group, but, before the last guard had fallen the Shard had already started bringing in more officers, a never-ending flow of warriors.

She skipped over a Spire Being's Will, flipping back to avoid a cutlass, grabbing hold of an arm to stabilise herself, her coat flying behind her. She pushed her hand out to the nearest chest, over the heart, and conjured a fireball, feeling disgusted and exhilarated as the flesh almost immediately melted, the heart and lungs scorched to a cinder, sickened and triumphant.

Garth was suddenly beside her, throwing out a shield that encompassed both of them so he could drag her aside, "We can't continue this forever. We have to destroy the Shard."

"How can we destroy it." she panted, taking out her pistol and firing as rapidly as it would allow, "These guys won't even let us get _near_ it."

He tightened the grip on her arm, "Cover me."

The hand left her and she turned round, fiercely, "Garth, _no_!"

But he had already taken off, fighting his way up a short slope, gaining a better angle on the thing. Blade let out a low, frustrated growl and decapitated a waiting guard, turning round to find Hannah in the fray, "Hammer! We're going in for the Shard! You okay?"

"I'm fine, just go!"

She nodded and followed Garth's path, fighting ferociously to get to him. The Will user was standing at the top of the slope, focussing his powers, throwing spell after spell at the thing with no effect.

He sensed her nearby: "I must find a way to expose its vulnerable spot! I know it has one. Old Kingdom artefacts respond to the Will. I just have to find the right spell. There must be a way."

"Well get a move on, Garth, my Will's going down fast." Her point was strengthened a moment later when, forced to pull up a shield to protect them both from a stray bullet, the energy required nearly put her on the floor. Blade gritted her teeth, forcing herself through it. Noise was everywhere, everything was just noise, screams clouding her ears, joined only by her heavy heartbeat.

Duck, down, out, forcing out a hand as hard as she could, a shove that could give her the ground she needed, a swift drawing of her pistol, three shots in quick succession, all hitting their marks, another two down. She could feel the strain. She was getting weary.

She heard Garth snarl, frustrated, "Nothing seems to work! Unless..."

Heat and light flashed behind her, and the Will user gave a triumphant yell, "Yes! That's it! Long, sustained attacks! It's the only way to bring it down!" a hand on her arm wheeled her round, pushing her towards the edge, "C'mon, Hero! It's time we destroyed this thing!"

Garth immediately started work, throwing out streams of fire and strange, golden whirls, each hitting the target smack on.

Long, sustained attacks... Fantastic...

Blade gritted her teeth, and, for the second time in the same day, drew all her Will to her, channelling it, giving it all that she had got. Clouds gathered, easily blocking out the sun, but she called them closer towards her, concentrating the power, drawing it forward. The small part of sky above her clouded over, black thunderclouds moving over them. She started to shiver. The first crash of thunder boomed around her, shocking her senses, rain pouring down in one thick wall, drenching her clothes, only just dry after the walk back from the Shadow Court. She struggled, feeling light-headed, dizzy, and then threw out her hands.

Pure power zapped from her fingertips, striking the Shard directly in the centre, and she forced out more, more power, _more_, concentrating fiercely. The wind had picked up, throwing her white hair all over the place, the sea before her crashing violently against the dock.

"That's good." Garth muttered in her ear, hand brushing her shoulder, "That's good, Hero. Keep it together, now."

He was remembering that time after the Spire. He was remembering that time on the ship, when she had been doing just this. He was remembering when she pushed too hard, too far. He was remembering when she lost control.

Well. So was she.

She pushed out more, and pain slammed through her temples, causing her to cry out, squeezing her eyes shut against the fire inside her head, forcing herself to keep pushing. Garth moved his hands, tightening his grip, now supporting her more physically than emotionally. She kept pushing. Spire Guards were behind them, closing in. She felt the slight drain from Garth as he pulled up a shield, turning to them, one hand leaving her as he threw his Will at the oncoming enemies.

The next push _did_ put her on the floor, falling to her knees with Garth's loosened hold, but she kept going, blinding pain racking her body, feeling so dizzy, so tired, so weak, so drained.

"Reaver!" she managed, raising her voice above the storm, forcing open her eyes, searching for him, "_Reaver_!"

He noticed her, and turned, cocking an eyebrow, showing he'd heard.

"When... when this thing opens... I need you to shoot it!"

The pirate watched her for a second, and then was forced to return to the fight as a guard got a little bit too close for comfort.

"_Reaver_!" she screamed, her voice cracking, "D'you hear me? _Shoot it_!"

He didn't turn back, and she had no idea whether he had heard. She let out a low snarl, too weak for anything else, and returned her attention to the Shard.

"Keep going, Hero!" Garth called from over her shoulder, brawling with a few guards, "_Keep going_!"

Jaina gritted her teeth, biting down so hard her jaw started to object.

_Open. __**Open**__. OPEN!_

Finally, a huge crack sounded through the air, and the Shard split at the top, opening to reveal a large, pulsating blue ball of raw power.

* * *

Garth immediately moved forwards, "_Yes_!"

Blade fought to keep her power strong, re-aiming towards the core, "Reaver! _SHOOT IT_!"

The Will-user was working furiously fast, sending spell after spell smack into the glowing heart, blades and lightning and fire, all focussed directly on the same spot.

A crack of a gunshot rang through the air, and Reaver _had_ heard her, he was aiming at it too, they were all fighting together, Hammer moving full-out to keep the few remaining soldiers away, aided by her precious Boy, the others throwing every long ranged weapon they had at the now creaking Shard.

Pain burned through Jaina. Her arms shook violently and it was taking everything she had just to stay upright. She pulled all her wits together, the sides of her vision blurring, tears burning down her face, and gave her power one last ferocious push.

Then, finally, amidst the constant assaulting from all sides, the Shard succumbed to its attackers, and splintered right in two.


	19. What Heroes Need

**What Heroes Need**

When Blade let go she felt something snap inside of her. She dropped to the floor, mud smearing across her forehead, joining the blood of a hundred different people, only one of them herself. Even though her heart pounded, her lungs screamed for air, she hadn't the energy to breathe. She just... broke. Her pistol on the floor, her legendary blade still in its holster, her lips brushing wet grass.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Hero. Drink this. Drink this now." Garth was beside her, forcing an uncorked Will potion into her hand and she downed it immediately, gratefully, the foul taste that usually made her wince now so welcome on her taste buds. She felt colour return to her, blue spreading like lightning across her skin, power tingling through her veins. She felt the change almost immediately, yanking in a shaky gasp as she felt Will course through her like heat, feeling rejuvenated, renewed, just like that time in the Spire, after ten years of silence.

She bounded to her feet, her heart pounding now for a whole different reason, her whole body animated, turning to get the Will user back in her sights, "Head rush. Hell. _That's_ something I've missed...." She looked up at them all. She and Garth were absolutely drenched, her spell having been the most vicious she'd ever pulled, and she gave him a small, wry smile, "Sorry about that, by the way."

He shook his head, smiling, broadly, "I don't care. We _did_ it!"

Hannah was beside them and gave a small, weary laugh, "Yep! Now that's teamwork!"

"_Hell_ yeah!" Blade said, enthusiastically, "We are _kickass_!"

The Hero of Strength laughed again, her eyes moving over her, "What the hell's got into _you_?"

"We took out a whole damned Shard and an army of Spire Guards! I'm _happy_!"

"Which means the Will potion she's just had is addling with her brain," Garth said, smiling slightly, "Pushing adrenaline and endorphins through her system. She'll get over it eventually."

"You're saying she's... _high_?"

His smile widened, "Yes. In a nutshell."

"Aw, shut it, Will user, before I shut it for you!" Blade gave him a playful swipe that he deflected easily with a shield, throwing her back a few steps. "Cheater." She teased, shaking her head, "Should know better than to mess with a sorcerer."

A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned her smile on it before she realised who it was, "Dear Sparrow! I've never seen you so... _lively_." Reaver gave a slow smile, "It's... _fascinating_."

Blade looked at him, her smile fading. Her heart was still pumping fast from the potion, and her gut instinct was to smile back at him, to keep going with her animation, her enthusiasm. But then she looked at him, his glittering eyes, his small smirk, and the full realisation of why she hated him sunk into her. Blade sobered slightly, backing off so his hand slid off her, away.

He noted the move with sparkling eyes, and smiled again. Then he shook his head, "But with that, I'm afraid I must really be off. See you around, my dear. One hopes..."

"But... you can't leave now!" Hammer argued, ferociously, "We _need_ you!"

He gave a light laugh, "But, as... _flattering_ as that may be, I don't need _you_."

"_Reaver_! You don't understand, look, just hear us out!"

"I'm afraid I've heard quite enough from your little messenger there. No deal."

Blade glanced at her fellow Heroes, "If he refuses to help us one more time I'm gunna take him at his word and kill him. I mean, c'mon, we've got no use for him otherwise, right?"

Garth shook his head, impatiently, "The word of a pirate is like a crystal glass in a hurricane."

"Screwed?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, still not quite off her Will-potion high.

"Easily broken."

"Ah. Same thing, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

"_Reaver_! Don't you _dare_!"

"Welcome, Reaver."

* * *

Blade at first thought the voice to be coming from inside her own head, as it usually was. It was only when Hammer turned that she realised her old ally was standing beside them on the sand.

Reaver gave a small, casual smile, "Delighted to be here... whoever you are. But as I was saying before the... enormous, pointy, flying boulder interrupted, I really must go."

Theresa took a firm step forwards, her voice low, "Listen to me. If you do not help us, Lucien will control the world, and every person in it."

He smiled again, "Well, he's welcome to them. People are... a bit overrated, don't you find?"

"'The world and every person in it' includes _you_, Reaver." Blade growled, dangerously, "_And __**us**_."

He shot her a look, amused at her anger, "And includes your little _Michael_. Maybe you should get cracking on finding a way to stop this man, yes?"

She took a sharp, angry step towards him, but Theresa put a hand on her shoulder, "No, Sparrow. Don't." she waited until she felt her nod, reluctantly, and then turned her attention back to Reaver, "Fine. If that's what you think... then fine. Leave. We will not try to stop you."

"_Theresa_!" Jaina hissed, "What the hell are you _doing_?!"

"_But_," she continued, firmly, "Maybe you ought to put _this_ to your consideration: with the whole population of Albion _enslaved_... who will you sacrifice to the King of Shadows?"

Reaver stopped in his place. He watched her for a moment before moving his eyes onto Jaina, who just looked at him with a small, knowing smile.

_Gotcha_. Michael said, slowly.

"I... Very well." He straightened his jacket, the movement showing his irritation, "Alright, yes, I _will_ help you." His eyes flickered back to Blade's again, "But, after that, there's a good chance I will kill you. But let's cross that bridge when we come to it, hm?"

"Yes." She replied, still smiling a small, dangerous smile, "_Let's_."

Reaver echoed her smile, darkly. Then he looked back to Theresa. "So. What now."

Theresa tilted her head slightly, "We must gather at the Circle of Heroes. The ritual we will perform there will provide us with a weapon we need to defeat Lucien."

"Thank you for the consideration, but I have all the weapons I need right here." The pirate replied, silkily, his hand moving down to touch his beloved Dragonstomper.

"Reaver, if it was that easy don't you think we'd have done it already?" Blade pointed out, shaking her head, exasperatedly. Then she looked to Theresa, "Theresa, take the others back to the Guild, I'll carry on on foot, meet you there."

"Sparrow," she said, her voice lingering on a very slight warning, "We really must make haste. Now Lucien knows the four Heroes are united -"

"There's not very much he can do about it." she interrupted, firmly, "Stay in the Guild. He can't touch you there. You'll be fine, and I'll meet you there in a few days."

"What is your plan?"

"I'll... travel back through Wraithmarsh." The thought made her wince, but she kept going: "I'll get the Cullis Gate back to Brightwood, hitch a lift off a trader at Garth's Farm. I'll be back at Heroes' Hill within a week."

"Including a detour to Bowerstone?" she asked, shrewdly.

Blade looked at the woman. Everything she knew, everything she feared, was exchanged in a single pause. Theresa nodded, slowly, "So be it." she held out a hand, "Come - we must depart."

Hammer and Garth immediately moved forwards, Garth taking her hand and Hammer placing hers on the older woman's shoulder.

Reaver stayed where he was, and Theresa held out her other hand, "Come, Reaver. We have much to discuss."

He looked her over, carefully, noting how she didn't move, waiting for him to take her hand. "Blind, eh? Hmm. I would have preferred _mute_." He shot Jaina a wink and a slow smile, and then moved forwards, lazily, and took Theresa's hand.

The Heroes vanished, and Blade was left looking at an empty bay. She sighed, slowly. Theresa had known what she wanted. What she _needed_. Blade adjusted the bag on her back, wiping some still remaining sand off her coat.

The Hero of Bowerstone was going home.

* * *

Michael swung open the door, and, as he always did, froze in his place. He looked her over, slowly, his eyes calculating her. She was pure white, her blue Will lines ferocious against her skin, a clear sign of recent over-use, and mud and... something else... smeared her face and upper torso. Her neck was covered in violent purple bruises.

Her hair, once a beautiful shade of brown that turned blonde in the sun, was now snow-white, and had grown at least four inches since he last saw her less than three weeks ago. Her eyes had changed colour too - they were now a dark, sparkling red, contrasting amazingly with her golden mask. Her violet corset was split down the side and her jacket was tattered. Blood stained her shorts and also the whole left side of her top, a new, vague echo of a scar hovering just below her previous one.

Michael looked her up and down, slowly, and then moved his horrified eyes back up to her face, "What happened to your highwayman's outfit?"

Jaina grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into a hug.

* * *


	20. The Homestead

**The Homestead**

Tears threatened at Blade's eyes, but, with an ease only practice can bring, she kept them at bay. She kissed the side of his face, pulling him down a little bit more, fiercely, "Hey." She murmured, her lips brushing across his neck as she did, "How's things?"

"Hell of a lot better now."

She smiled, and withdrew a little. Michael looked at her again, in that slow, careful way he did, "What... what the hell happened?"

She shook her head, putting her hand on his shoulder, "Michael, I'll tell you later, I promise, but right now... I'd kill for a cup of tea. Or a whisky. One or the other."

He gave a small, wry smile, "Well. Haven't heard _that_ as a reason for you to be killing someone before."

She echoed his smile, and then shook her head again, stepping into the house, dragging her coat off her shoulders as she did so. He moved with her, his hands still around her waist. She glanced down at them and then back to his eyes, shrewdly, "Where are the kids?"

The answer was obvious. Michael smiled, knowing he had been caught out and not caring, "Down the road," he played with the hem of her corset before pushing half a hand underneath it, his hand warm against her cold skin, "At school." He slid an arm around her back, hooking her, pulling her a little closer.

"Mm. And when are they back?"

He smirked again, putting a hand under her chin, gently moving her lips up to his, "I'd say, about... three hours?" he kissed her, slowly, tantalisingly softly.

"Three hours, hmm? Then I guess I need to tell you something."

"Anything you like." He breathed in her ear, the hand on her chin moving down to brush gently against her belt buckle.

"I almost slept with another man."

* * *

Michael pulled back like he'd been burnt. He looked at her for a second, cautiously, his eyes flickering up to hers to see whether she was serious, "What are you talking about."

"I almost slept with another man." Blade repeated, slowly, her voice and face emotionless, "With Reaver. The third Hero, the Hero of Skill." He just looked at her. She shrugged, "I'm telling you this... because I need to. Because it needs to be said. Because you need to hear it."

There was a long silence. No emotion moved over his face. "Tell me."

"Reaver is a pirate. A chauvinistic, rich, callous murderer. He asked me what price I would pay for Lucien's head and I stupidly said anything. I said I'd give my life." She paused a beat, "He told me my life wasn't what he required."

"What _did_ he _require_." Coldness had started to seep into Michael's voice.

Blade mirrored this and kept her voice forcibly calm. "He required _me_. I went along with it." she brushed her hair back from her face, showing him her abused neck, "These are where he bit me." She showed him the bruises across her wrists, "These are where he held me down. But... it got to a certain point and I... I couldn't continue. I stopped him. I pushed him off me. I told him I couldn't do it. That I couldn't betray you."

"He knew you were married?"

"I was wearing my ring."

He looked at her for a moment. "Theresa told you you shouldn't wear that thing when you're Blade." He stated, eyes locked on hers, "That people would take advantage of it. Try to hurt you."

"Yes. I wore it because I was going to Bloodstone. I wore it because I was going to a place where... maybe a wedding ring would serve as a deterrent."

"A _deterrent_..." he repeated, slowly. He looked at her for a second, and then shook his head, "So you didn't wear it because, maybe, it was the symbol of our marriage."

"If it were up to me, Michael, I would never take it off. But sometimes the situation demands it."

He nodded, slowly. Then he shook his head, "You said _almost_."

She frowned, "Huh?"

"You said _almost_. So you didn't sleep with him. So... how did you get him to help you?"

She drew a breath, "I took a Seal to the ruins of a destroyed village called Oakvale. To a place called the Shadow Court. I sacrificed my youth to them so Reaver could keep his. Reaver is over three hundred years old."

His eyes scanned her again, "You don't look older."

"No. Avo granted me back my youth for my selfless act. There... was another girl there. I could have chosen... But I didn't. He granted me back my youth."

"Always were _the Chosen one_..." there was no tint of amusement in his voice. Just... emptiness. There was a long pause. "You let him touch you."

"I didn't believe I had a choice. Reaver told me the only way he would help me - the only way I would be able to get to Lucien - was to do this for him."

He nodded, slowly. She watched as his eyes grew dark, anger burning inside him, coldness erupting from deep inside his soul.

Michael took half a step forwards and she couldn't stop herself from flinching back. He turned his back, and she could see his shoulders shifting as he fought with his breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest, reflexively.

"I am going to kill him."

The words took her by surprise, making her flinch again. He was the angriest she'd ever heard him, his voice a low growl of barely suppressed rage, digging deep into her primal survival instincts - she felt the hair stand up on the back on her neck, goosebumps spreading quickly along her arms, her bare skin.

Michael spun round to her and she jolted back, her elbow smacking the wall, painfully. She glanced down at it and by the time she looked back up he was in front of her. She backed away, her eyes wide, hands out as if to keep him back. He looked at her, clocking her fear but not correcting it.

"I am going to kill him." He repeated, slowly.

"Leave that to me." She said, quietly, her voice shaking slightly.

"No. When this is all over, when Lucien's dead... I will find him and I will kill him."

"Michael, he's a Hero! _Think_ about it! You can't just -"

"I don't care if he's Jack of Blades himself." The fury in his voice stopped her in her tracks, and it took everything she had to force herself not to shiver, "Understand me?"

She looked at him for a moment. Then she nodded, "Yes. Yes, I understand."

Michael shook his head, darkly, and Blade looked at him. He hadn't always been a househusband, or whatever you would call this bizarre arrangement they had. When she had met him he was an adventurer, burning with a fighter's blood. Before they had got married he had helped her out of more scraps than she cared to name. And at thirty-one he was far from past it. Fire and hate burned in his eyes, and she could see the vicious fighter that she once knew.

"You're scaring me." She said, quietly.

He nodded, vehemently, "Good. Good." He paused for a moment, calming his breathing. Then he looked at her, "And now back to you."

He took a step closer and she took one back, instinctively. Her back hit the table behind her, and she glanced at it before transferring her gaze back onto him.

Michael put a hand on her shoulder, brushing a thumb over her neck, "Now. This pirate. How far did he get with you."

Blade just looked at him. She couldn't find the words.

He seemed to understand. He moved even closer to her, placing his hands on her upper arms. He looked at her for a second, "Just tell me when."

She paused, and then realisation slowly dawned on her, and she nodded, shakily. He looked at her for a second. Then he leant forwards, and brushed his lips across hers. She shook, and her breathing was frozen in her chest, an instinctive fear tightening her lungs.

His withdrew and looked at her again. She stayed silent. He went back in again, this time pushing her lips open with his, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She didn't object, didn't say a word, and he pulled back, knowing that she wasn't fond of this sort of attention, and then moved his mouth to her neck, lips brushing against the dark purple marks.

Jaina felt a deep shudder move through her body at his touch, and she reached out a hand to brush across the back of his neck.

Michael pulled back, "Put your hands on the table."

His voice was cold, yes, but the words didn't have the insistence of a command. Even so, Blade found herself obeying him, placing her hands on the dining table behind her. His hands had moved to her back, and he was pulling at her corset's laces, she could feel them slowly giving way. He shot her one questioning glance - did he get this far? - before pulling the top off completely.

The cold hit her, and she put a hand on his shoulder, trying to draw him closer, wanting his warmth. And more.

He drew back again, "I said put your hands on the table."

She obeyed, again, closing her eyes, hearing something clatter to the floor as she grabbed onto the wood, not caring. She let out a slow, shaky breath.

Michael moved his hands down, slowly, following the pirate's actions. He slipped his hands down to her so-short-shorts, easily unbuckling her belt, moving it slowly to one side.

Blade's back arched and she pushed forwards a little, hands still obediently locked onto the table, trying to speed up his actions, a soft purr moving reflexively through her throat. Michael kept his pace slow, each one of his movements with their own deliberate intention. He pushed his hand down only slightly, his fingers just brushing the soft cloth underneath.

"Here."

* * *

Michael looked at her. He brushed his hand across her skin, slowly, "Here?"

"Here." Blade repeated, her voice little less than a whisper.

"Hm." He looked her up and down, slowly, making no effort at all to disguise what he was doing. Then he looked back at her face, "I can just imagine what the pirate felt when you said no. When you pushed him away."

"He wasn't particularly happy about it, no."

"I bet he wasn't. If you had gone this far with _me_..." he faded off. He continued watching her for a second, and then his eyes flickered back up to hers again, "Did you like it?"

She let out a low moan, one of frustration and pain and guilt and... something else. "Michael." Her voice held a pleading quality that she didn't like, "All I could think about was you."

"Good."

She glanced at him, surprised. His voice was heated again.

"What?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly, fear sparking up once again.

"I said _good_." He tightened his grip on her shoulder, looking at her, fiercely, "I'm never going to let you even _think_ about another guy again, you hear me?"

A shot of unexpected anger moved through her, wiping away her confusion, "I _didn't_ think about another guy, what, you think I _wanted_ that scum? You think I _wanted_ to be put in that position, to have to choose between betraying my sister and betraying you?"

He pushed the hand on her stomach down further, drawing out a quick gasp as a shiver of emotions she no longer could identify flew through her, stopping her arguments in their place. "You're never gunna forget me. I won't let you."

"You don't need to do anything to be sure of that. I'll _never_ forget you." She shook her head, desperately, trying to put a hand on his shoulder again before he replaced it roughly back on the table, "Michael, I _love_ you."

He raised an eyebrow, "You do, huh."

"Yes. I love you."

He looked at her for a moment. "Do you?"

"Yes." She paused, running her tongue over her bottom lip, "I... _love_ you."

He nodded, slowly. Then his eyes locked onto hers. The hand on her shoulder moved up, brushing back her white hair. He hesitated. Then he shook his head, moving closer to her. The movement slid his other hand down even further, and she let out a soft whimper before she could stop herself. Michael's face was blank. She could no sooner tell what he was feeling than what _she_ was feeling.

He hesitated, and then shook his head, slowly, "Why... why did he..."

"What." She asked, frowning slightly.

Michael moved a hand over her neck, eyes flickering over the heavy, dark bruises, "He marked you. He... did that on purpose, didn't he."

She shook her head, almost desperately, "Michael, I... I don't... I don't remember, I can't..."

He put her outstretched hand once again back on the table, squeezing hard enough to hurt, "Think _harder_."

Blade thought harder. She barely remembered those few moments with him, pinned down to the mattress, forcing herself to suppress her revulsion. Had he bitten her on purpose? _Marking_ her... Well. It seemed very like something Reaver would do.

"_Why did you shoot Bradshaw. Why didn't you just let him kill me."  
_"_He kissed you."  
_"_**So**__?"  
_"_So I was just reclaiming what was mine."_

The strange mix of anger and disgust must have shown on her face, because Michael nodded, slowly, "He did it on purpose. To mark you. To _claim_ you. He... _claimed_ you."

Jaina just looked at him, hesitantly. She didn't know how to reply to that.

"Well." He said, slowly. He looked at her for a second, "Guess I'll just have to claim you back, then, won't I."

He ripped the clothes off her much faster than Reaver, the sword still attached to her holster clattering to the floor. He forced her back, pulling her round the table and slamming her up against the wall, sending a jolt of pain through her back. She didn't care. He grabbed her knees, lifting her up so they were at the same height, kissing her so hotly she felt faint. He wrenched off the final piece of offending clothing and sent it flying carelessly to the floor. She finally managed to tear her mouth from his and gasped for air, and he took the moment to shrug off his jacket, throwing it to one side.

His body was pressed against her so solidly he didn't need to hold her in place, but he put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her back into the wall, mouth attacking hers.

Jaina managed to stop him a moment before the inevitable. "I love you." She said again, pressing a hand to his shoulder, his chest, needing him to believe her, needing him to understand.

This time he didn't brush her off. He just nodded, simply, "I know."

* * *


	21. The Other Half

**The Other Half**

"_Mama_!"

"_Rose_!"

Jaina caught her daughter and lifted her bodily into the air, twirling her around, "Rose, my little girl!" she placed her down, smiling, putting a teasing hand to her back, "_Ouch_, not so little any more! Remind me never to do that again! You must be at least six foot already!"

"Am not!

"Are too!"

"Am _not_!"

"Are _too_!" she turned, laughing, and caught sight of her second child, "_Mattie_! What, you too old for a hug from your long-lost mother?! Get over here!"

She wrenched him over to her and smothered him in a hug, placing kisses wherever she could reach, despite his wriggling protests.

"Aw, _mum_! Cut it out." Mattie managed to squirm away and wiped his cheek, ferociously, "That's _gross_..."

She felt a grin slide onto her face, "Yeah yeah, honey, you keep telling yourself that." She lowered her voiced, adding in an undertone: "'Cause it's not gunna last long..."

"Hey guys." Michael said, smiling slightly.

"Daddy!" Rose ran up to him, pulling him down into a hug.

"Hey dad." Mattie replied before dumping his bag down at the door.

"Mattie, what have I told you, don't just dump that there, put it away!"

The young boy scowled, but shook his head, and did as he was told.

Jaina watched the display with a wide smile on her face, "So, what you two do at school today, anyway?"

"I drew a picture, wanna see?"

"Hell _yeah_ I do, let's see it."

Michael got there first, looking at the picture over her shoulder, "Oh, it's mummy!"

"Uh-huh!" the girl replied, proudly.

'Mummy' walked over, taking her first glance. She raised an eyebrow at the scribbled blue lines forming what she thought looked like a hurricane wearing a hat and smiled, delighted, "Rose Marie, that's _fantastic_! _Thank_ you, honey, this is _amazing_!" she caught Mattie by the shoulder just before he managed to sneak upstairs, "And how about you, kiddo, what you learn at school today?"

He shrugged, nonchalantly, as only an eleven-year-old truly can, "I can spell 'purchase'."

"Let's hear it, then."

"P-U-R-C-H-A-S-E. Purchase."

"_Very_ good. Okay, another one, how about... exercise." She had picked a difficult one on purpose, and wondered how he'd do with it.

"E-X... E-R... C-I-S-E."

"Well done!" she replied, genuinely impressed, "Okay, how about... _omission_."

"O-M-" he paused for a moment, running it through, "O-M-I-S-H-O-N."

"_Very_ close. And _very_ good, Mattie, well done! Keep at it, yeah?"

"Uh-huh." Mattie dragged his jacket off his shoulders, and, after a firm look from his father, grudgingly went to hang it up. In doing so, he noticed her holster strapped up on the high shelf, "Aw, mum, you got a new gun! Can I have a go, _pleeeease_?"

She laughed, shooting the Enforcer a quick look to make sure the safety was on and it was still out of his ever-growing reach, "Not a chance. Give it a few years and sure, but, at the moment, that thing's likely to take your shoulder outta place. It's a little too big, sweetie."

Michael shook his head, "Mattie, go try with the one on the fireplace, that one's fine." Blade shot him a questioning look - clearly saying 'what the hell, Michael, that's a _Master Flintlock rifle_, don't you know the _damage_ that thing could do?', and he smiled, "Took the ammo out of that one as soon as Rose started to walk. She was a _nightmare_..."

She laughed, but still felt keenly the sense of regret inside of her. Regret at all these precious moments missed. She shook her head, ridding herself of the thought, and then turned to her family, "Right, guys, listen up! Mama's got a bit of an announcement."

They looked at her, obediently, and she took in a long, slow breath, "Today... I've got something very important to do. To do with my work. You understand?"

"Hero stuff, mama?" Rose asked, her ears perking up at any talk about what she did on her long nights away.

She laughed, "Yeah. Hero stuff. There's..." her voice sobered slightly, but she kept it forcefully light: "There's a very bad man I've got to go see. I've got to go see him to make sure he stops doing bad things. Do you understand?"

"You're gunna go kick his ass, mum?"

"Watch your mouth, young man!" then she shook her head, "But yes, yes, I suppose I am."

The kids laughed and Michael gave a small playful frown, "You're all as bad as each other..."

Jaina shot him a smile, and then shook her head, "What I was _saying_, was that I might not be back for a bit. This might take some time. You might not see me for a few weeks."

"Aw, _mum_!" Rose Marie protested, "That's, like, _forever_!"

"No, honey, it's not, believe me. It won't be too long, sweetheart, I promise."

"When you going?" Mattie asked, suppressing his concern in that way young boys did.

"Pretty soon-ish, I'm afraid. I just popped back to see you guys, but soon I've really gotta be off."

"Okay, well, see you later, then."

She raised an eyebrow, "You know I'm not gunna let you off that lightly. Get here."

He moved forwards, reluctantly, and she grabbed him, pulling him into a hug. She didn't push it, however, and pulled back quickly, "Look what I got for ya."

"Oh, _wow_, mum!"

He took the toy gun with a delight any child could manage, but also a consideration accessible only by the child of a Hero, "What's the range?"

"I have to say I haven't tried it out yet. Go on, go out in the back yard and test it for me. And Rose, here's one for you, go on."

"Thanks mum!"

"Thanks mum!"

She smiled, "I'll see you guys in a few weeks, okay?" Rose Marie pulled her down into a hug, and Jaina pulled her close before releasing her, "Gunna miss you, kiddo."

"Me too, mama."

"You better. Now, go on, off you go. Go play."

The two kids ran off out into the garden, already arguing about whose pistol they thought would shoot the furthest.

Jaina watched them for a few moments, smiling. Michael came up to her, putting an arm round her hips, "Mattie inherited your intellect."

"Yeah, and, unfortunately for her, Rose Marie got my artistic side..."

He laughed, shaking his head, "Well, that's good, here was I think she had got _mine_."

Jaina shook her head, smiling, turning back to the shelf, reaching up to retrieve her holster. Michael let his hand slide down her back until he wasn't touching her back at all, and she corrected him with a playful slap.

He smiled and retreated, hands up. He watched her for a few seconds, and then shook his head, "You're gunna be okay, right?"

She smiled, "What, are you joking? I'm the Fourth Hero! Master of all three Heroic Outlooks - Strength, Skill and Will! I'm the Hero of Bowerstone, huzzah!" he laughed, and she shook her head, smiling, "Though, technically, I'm not actually from Bowerstone, I was born somewhere outside the border. But 'the Hero of Not-Actually-Bowerstone-Somewhere-Outside-the-Bowerstone-Border' probably doesn't have as much of a ring to it..."

"Yep, I'll agree with that. But you are going to be okay, aren't you."

She turned to him. She paused for a moment, looking at him, and then shook her head, kissing him softly on the lips. "You really think anything could take me away from you?" she asked, gently, "You're stuck with me, mister."

He gave a low, mocking sigh, "Yeah. Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

"Yep. Now come help me with this damned thing, will you?"

He smiled and immediately moved forwards, helping her attach her back holster. She shrugged the straps over her shoulders and waited patiently as he clipped the buckle and adjusted the tightness, "That alright?"

"Yeah, thanks." She tested the tension, yanking out her Daichi to see if the holster allowed her the correct amount of manoeuvrability. It did. She nodded, satisfied, and then picked up her pack, slinging it over her neck so it hung by her hip, out of the way of her blade.

Michael was watching her, smiling again, "Ready? I mean, in your own time, of course..."

"Yes, _exactly_ in my own time!" Jaina replied, shaking her head, "I'll take as long as I need to - it's a woman's prerogative!"

His smile grew and he shook his head. She turned, heading towards the door, pulling it open, moving out onto the step, "There, that better?"

"Much."

She looked at him for a second. Then she shook her head, "I love you."

He smiled, "I know."

Jaina raised an eyebrow, "Still not done enough to earn it yet, then?"

He shook his head, smiling again, "Nope."

"Oh, come on!" he laughed and she hit him playfully on the shoulder, "Say it! Just once, c'mon, please? See? I'm begging now. _Please_?"

"Oh, alright, _fine_." He rolled his eyes, teasingly, "I love you. Satisfied?"

"Well, I'd say about eighty percent. But I'll guess that'll have to do."

He leaned closer to her ear, "Swing round again after all this is done with and we'll see if we can roll it up to a hundred."

She blushed despite herself and he laughed again, shaking his head and giving her a slight push out the door, "Go on then, _Hero_. Go _fulfil your destiny_..."

"Yeah, just promise not to turn into Theresa when I do!" she took the steps, easily. She stopped at the bottom, turning back to him, a playful smile tugging at her lips, "Wish me luck!"

"Yeah, yeah, honey. See you later."

She laughed, a grin sliding over her face, and then shook her head and turned her back, "I love you!"

He shook his head, "Yeah, whatever, now get outta here!"

She blew him a mocking kiss and turned, following the path, the sound of her husband's laughter following her down the streets.

* * *


	22. Moral Superiority

**Moral Superiority**

"So, you're still alive then?"

Blade raised an amused eyebrow, "Gunna take more than a trek through Wraithmarsh to kill _me_, sister."

Hammer smiled, "S'pose so. Though we can still hope..."

"Aw, shut it, Hero." She turned her attention round, ignoring the woman's laughter, "You alright, Will user?"

Garth nodded, "I am fine, thank you."

She hesitated, "Reaver?"

The pirate smirked, "All the better for seeing you, my dear."

"Well. I guess I asked for that." She turned, "So! Let's get this show on the road."

She moved further towards them, glancing casually off the side of the hill as she did so. It was a sheer drop of about fifty feet, but Blade had always sort of been... _transfixed_ by it. She shook her head, ridding herself of the feeling, glancing down at her heel and stroking a hand along Boy's head.

"Well." Reaver drawled, lazily, "Now that we're here... what exactly does Lucien _want_?"

Hannah snorted, shaking her head, "Aside from god-like power? Hmm, that's a tough one..."

He shook his head, immediately, "No no no, that kind of power is a _means_, not an end, what does he want to _do_?"

"When I knew him, he wanted to resurrect his family." Garth replied, gravely, "Probably still does. But... give a beggar a million gold, he'll buy food - until he's full. And then he realises bread isn't the _only_ thing for sale."

"Then let's make sure this beggar doesn't get his gold." Blade said, ardently, "Theresa, where we at. We ready?"

Theresa inclined her head, moving closer towards her, "Yes. Now we can begin." She motioned her forwards, "Sparrow. Stand in the centre."

She hesitated, and then nodded, moving slowly forwards into the centre circle, putting her feet cautiously on the pattern burned into the soil.

"You represent that which binds the three together: Strength, Skill and Will. Together you will call forth the great weapon which will defeat Lucien."

"Fantastic." She said, her voice level, "Guys? Let's get moving."

The three Heroes looked at her, each with their different expressions - Garth grim, Hammer wary, Reaver sceptical - and then moved forwards into their own circles around her.

Reaver raised an eyebrow, "So now we just... do what, exactly?"

Suddenly, a blinding stream of yellow light struck him in the chest. He doubled over with a strangled yell, and Blade took half a step forwards, her heart pounding, "Reaver?"

There was a yell behind her and she spun back - Hammer was being struck too, and this time the light was a violent red. Automatically she tried to move to her, but a wall of spinning white orbs stopped her in her place, holding her still on the seal underneath her feet. She fought with it, ferociously, trying to continue, but she couldn't move more than a foot in either direction. Garth had been taken down, his own light a bright, bright blue.

Lights started moving between them, connecting the three to each other, these ones a bright, blinding white.

Blade turned, panic pumping through her, "Theresa?"

Then the light hit her.

* * *

Pain split through Blade's head, throwing her to the floor, writhing. She tried to push herself a little bit upright but a sharp bolt of pain smashed her head back to the floor. She clutched her hands to her head, trying to force the sound out, trying to force it away, this one, high pitched screech in her head, tearing at her brain, she couldn't see, her eyes splintered, water trickled down her cheeks, and she felt herself wishing for death, wishing for an end, just for it to finish, just for it to -

The pain stopped. Blade stayed on the floor for some time, not moving. Then, reluctantly, painfully, she pushed out a hand, forcing her torso up off the floor. The remnants of the pain cut through her head and she grimaced, swaying slightly before snapping a hand out, keeping herself off the floor. Her head spun and a ringing sounded through her ears. She felt sick, weak.

A low, pained groan twanged through her wrecked senses - Hannah, "Bloody hell. _That_... _hurt_."

Another groan - Garth, "I agree..."

Blade tried to stand, but her legs buckled and she was back on all fours again. She felt a similar groan come from her own throat, but couldn't create anything resembling words.

"Blade? _Blade_! Are you okay?"

She put her head back on the floor. She wanted to raise her head, throw up a hand, plead with her friend to just shut the hell up. Her voice cut through her head easier than the Daichi.

She felt a faint, soothing heat move around her as Garth pushed out with his Will, "She's alive. Conscious. It's the echo of the pain. I can't heal her."

_Stop calling me 'she', Will user_. Her mind protested, weakly. She hadn't the energy to speak.

"Well." Reaver was back on his feet, and, though his voice carried the slightest echo of pain, it was still as arrogant as ever, "I did enjoy making that pretty light with you, but, with that done... what happens now."

Garth hesitated, "I... don't know. We crossed beyond the voyage of my knowledge when she stepped into the centre."

"Wait... where's Theresa?"

There was suddenly something in the air, like a hum, like a feeling, and Blade felt her insides tighten with a reflexive fear.

"Well..." Reaver said, slowly, "_This_ can't be good..."

* * *

Blade managed to raise her head enough to see the countless Spire Shards rotate around them, forming a circle around them, keeping them in. Lightning flashed and there were the Spire Guards, standing menacingly at the sidelines, waiting.

"Heroes. Enough power to build a new world and you waste it trying to save the old one."

At hearing this oh-so-familiar voice, an old, primal power forced Blade to her feet, forced her to concentrate on the figure in front of her. The shield still shimmering around her prevented her from taking a reflexive step back. Oh God. Oh Avo. It was _him_. This was _him_.

This was Lucien.

She saw him up close for the first time in ten years, and the first time they had both seen and _recognised_ each other since that night in his study. Her throat closed and her heart pounded, and she felt almost dizzy, almost faint. Fear and anger took her so strongly she felt weak.

"You're... you're Lucien!" Hannah said, weakly.

Garth had managed to get to his feet, "Open your eyes, Lucien! The ruins of the Old Kingdom are all around us!"

He shook his head again, "And soon they will be buried under the _New_ Kingdom. And you are looking at the new King."

"Pretender!" the sorcerer spat out, his stance weak but his voice very strong, "Your fall will be hard indeed."

Reaver was watching the scene in front of him through the eyes of a self-serving pirate, "Deal still stands, Lord Lucien. _King_ Lucien."

Hammer let out a low, weary snarl, "Oh Reaver, will you _shut_ it?"

The pirate allowed a small echo of his glittering smile, "In fact you can have these people for free!"

"And so I shall." Lucien replied, darkly, "And _you_ as _well_."

"Where is she?" Hammer said, fiercely.

He turned his attention on her, raising an eyebrow, "Your fortune-telling friend?"

"What have you _done_ to her?"

"I merely _listened_."

There was a flash of light from the Shards and they were gone, the Heroes _and_ the guards, and she was alone with him, alone with Lucien, alone with her sister's murderer, and she felt the sickly tinge of a very old fear deep in her stomach. She ignored it, calling up the next easily available emotion: anger.

"Never were one for a fair fight, were you, Fairfax." Blade growled, subtly testing the shield's hold on her, "Always with your shields. Coward."

He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely curious, moving towards her, causing her heart to do a reflexive leap, "You think so?"

"I don't need to think it. It's truth. You're a coward. You refuse to fight me. The only time you ever face me is when you've got your damned safety nets." She gave a short bark of a laugh, "Even when we were _children_ you refused to face us! Wouldn't even _shoot_ us without us being behind a goddamned shield! What possible threat could two young street urchins cause? You're a _coward_!"

"The prisons were necessary."

She raised an eyebrow, sceptically, "You seem to think a _lot_ of things are 'necessary', Fairfax. Let me out. Let's settle this with honour. While you've still got even the tiniest shred left, child killer."

He looked at her without emotion, "It had to be done."

Anger burst inside of her: "_Had to be done_? This was my _sister_! A young child! She was my _world_!"

He let out a low, dark laugh, void of any emotion, "Fool. You think you are the only person ever to have suffered loss?"

"No." she replied, fiercely, "In fact, I _know_ I'm not. But when I suffered it I got through it. And then turned on the one responsible. What I _didn't_ do is torture and kill countless thousands in some self-righteous plot to get her back!"

Lucien looked at her for a second, and, for a second, she thought maybe she was getting through to him.

But then he shook his head, "You know nothing." He took a few more steps forwards, drawing his pistol, "I should have gone out into the dark and found your body that night. But I was hasty. I let the bloodline flourish. And you... _have_ flourished." She gave a laugh just as cold as his was, and he shook his head again, lowering his pistol to point at her pounding heart, "But this time is different. The last of the Heroic blood will flow out onto this hilltop." He paused for a moment, just looking at her. "Just as it now spatters the walls of your family home."

A fleeting frown brushed over Blade's face. He looked down for a moment, and then took her eyes again, "Your husband and children are dead."

* * *

Time stopped. Jaina looked at him. Lucien looked back. Then he shook his head, "I would have left it to one of my soldiers to do the unpleasant deed - but past experience tells me... one must be _absolutely __**certain**_of these things."

Blade was still staring at him. Her heart was pounding so hard she could just feel one, continuous hum. But her brain hadn't caught up yet.

"No." She whispered, finally, shaking her head, slowly, "No. You're lying."

Lucien gave an emotionless smile, "Why _would_ I."

"You're _wrong_, you're a _LIAR_!" her voice cracked as she moved into a half-scream. He just looked at her, and she shook her head, slowly, "Prove it. I said _prove_ it!"

He sighed, wearily, "Proof? If I must. Your husband... he was a proficient fighter. He tried to protect them. Your children. He tried to fight. But the gun on the mantelpiece... wasn't loaded. He found out the hard way."

Jaina's heart had stopped. The gun on the mantelpiece. A Master Flintlock rifle. The one she had seen just yesterday. The one she and Michael had joked about.

The one Mattie had played with.

A noise was building up in her ears, louder, louder, until it was a _scream_, a pure _scream_ in her head, unstoppable, just this one, high-pitched... _scream_.

She drew in a quick breath. It held. Then she let it out, immediately pulling one back in. No. No, this wasn't... this wasn't _possible_. He couldn't have... he wouldn't...

She was shaking. She couldn't stop.

Michael.

Tears spilled immediately down her cheeks. Her breathing was hectic. Then something seemed to click inside of her, and she doubled up, choking on her tears, raising a shaking hand to her mouth.

She looked up at him, shaking her head, ignoring the water spilling down her neck, leaving salty trails all down her face, "But... but your family... _died_!"

He nodded, "Yes. And sacrifices must be made to ensure that doesn't happen to anyone else."

She just looked at him, shaking her head, quickly, "_Sacrifices_?" he nodded again, and the scream grew louder in her head, pain aching through her entire body, tears hot in her eyes, her lungs rigid, her throat constricted. She dropped her head again, pulling in breath after breath, each one like daggers in her throat, her chest. No. No it wasn't true. It _couldn't_ be true. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. No.

"After all I went through in the Spire." she managed, her voice small and weak, muffled and restricted by tears, "After everything we've been through." He nodded, slowly, grimly, as if... as if he... _understood_.

Blade looked up at him again, feeling another emotion set into place, "Sacrifices. And you think... you think _you're_ the one who should be deciding these _'sacrifices'_, yes? What... the _fuck_ makes you think you're so fucking self-righteous as to be able to make that decision! You'd sacrifice them? You'd sacrifice my... my childr-" she shook her head, tears taking her again, unable to finish the word, "My childr- My... my Rose... my Mattie... You killed them yourself. They died... by _your_ hand!" she fought with the strange shield holding her back, ferociously, "_CHILD KILLER_!"

_You're a __**murderer**__, Hero. A __**child killer**__. Just like me. Your daughter was so sweet. Tasted like honey when I visited her last night. She called out your name as she died._

Anger and hatred and pain burned inside her so hot she couldn't stand it. She needed it to stop, it had to stop, it had to _STOP_!

All she felt was anger. Hate. Ferocious, ever-burning, _unstoppable_ hate. It was building back up again, faster than she'd ever felt it before. Her heart swelled and her blood pumped furiously around her body. The anger was so strong now.

_You have changed since the Spire! All you are is hatred and bitterness! You are __**twisted**__, a __**mockery**__ of all you once believed!_

Lucien was looking at her, and, for the first time, a shred of emotion crossed his face, "Certain... distasteful acts cannot be avoided in a path to perfection. They shared your blood. A Hero's blood."

_DISTASTEFUL __**ACTS**__?_

The anger was burning inside her now. It _hurt_, it _physically __**hurt**_. She gritted her teeth, tried hard not to yell out, to scream, to end it. _It hurt so much!_

_**Fight**__ it, Jaina._ The voice of Michael urged from within her head.

But she didn't want to fight it. She wanted it to stopstopstopSTOP! Michael was dead. This voice... this voice was nothing more than an echo. Fiery tears poured freely down her cheeks, burning her skin.

"Then finish the job!" she yelled through her tears, shaking so badly that, if she had been in a different mindset, she'd have been surprised she was still standing, "Kill me! _Do_ it! I'm the original, I'm the Hero, I'm the one who started all this! _I'm_ the one you want! Shoot me! Now! You're a _coward_, _do_ it! _Shoot_ me! _SHOOT ME_!"

He cocked the pistol, deftly. Then he pulled the trigger.

It happened so fast. There was a flash of sandy fur and a heart-wrenching yelp, a cry, and then a thud as the body of her precious, precious Boy was thrown unceremoniously to the floor.

If it wasn't for the shock, Jaina was sure she would have been sick.

Lucien shook his head, impatiently, "Pitiful creature. Misguided and weak." He turned his attention back to her again, "The last time I killed you... it tore my heart out. Of course, you were only a child. But then... so was I."

Anger burned as tears flowed down her cheeks, "But you're not now! So kill me! _Do_ it, just _do_ it!_ DO_ it!" he stayed still, and anger raged inside of her, "_You killed the only people I ever loved_! KILL ME!"

She didn't hear the click of the hammer, didn't see him pull the trigger, didn't feel the bullet as it lodged itself into her left shoulder, opening the old scar again. Her world stopped in a second, in an instant, and there was no more Lucien, no more Heroes' Hill, no more death, no more pain. Just silence.

But, somewhere, in amongst the darkness, Blade heard an old, familiar voice calling to her.

_Death is not your destiny today, little Sparrow._


	23. Bittersweet

**Bittersweet**

"Come on, little Sparrow! Wake up!"

Eyes open. Awake. Alive. But, this time, there was no damp, rotten wood beneath her cheek, no chill that moved through to the bones. She was in a bed, a warm, comfortable bed. She shook her head, groggily, and tried to force herself to concentrate. No, no matter what she did, her mind stayed hazy. What the hell...?

"Well, c'mon, then, lazy bones! Get up!"

Sparrow raised her head to the image of her older sister standing with her hands on her hips, "Aww, Rose, c'mon, ten more minutes!"

Rose laughed, "_No_! Get your butt out of bed! _Now_!"

She let out a low, weary groan, but did what she said, reluctantly leaving the warmth of her covers. It was surprisingly warm outside, however, and she grabbed some clothes out of her drawers and quickly started getting dressed.

"C'mon, get a move on! Wait 'til you find out what we're doing today! We've got the whole place to ourselves! Mum and dad have gone out! They won't be back for _aaages_! I have got... _such_ a day planned! Come on, let's go!"

Sparrow grinned despite herself - Rose's enthusiasm was annoyingly contagious - and quickened her pace.

Sparrow caught the apple Rose threw at her. She hesitated for a second, glancing down at it. Then she smiled, throwing it back at her as hard as she could.

"_Ow_! Okay, okay, you win, you win, already!" they both laughed, and Rose moved forwards, taking her by the wrist, "Have you been practising when I haven't been looking? You've gotten so much better!"

She grinned, sheepishly, "Well, who d'you think takes out that rooster every morning?"

She gaped, "That was _you_? Mrs Patty was going _mad_!"

"Yeah, I know," Sparrow managed through a quickly building laugh, "She asked me about it. I told her the rooster must've been sitting under the apple tree again. You should've _seen_ her, it was _hilarious_!"

The two girls fell back into helpless giggles, Rose pulling her baby sister into a hug. After a few minutes they calmed down, and the eldest looked at her with a small, sly smile.

"What?" she asked, her heart fluttering with excitement - she knew that look.

"Well..." she began, mischievously, "Wanna see just how good you are?"

The bottle exploded into a thousand pieces. Sparrow hesitated again, and then glanced down at her hand. It was wrapped tightly around a small toy gun. She frowned. How... Where... where _was_ she? She was at the other side of the garden, how did she get _there_?

Her questions were drowned out by Rose's laughs and cheers, "_Aw_, that was _amazing_! Fan_tastic_! _Perfect_ aim!"

A smile moved onto her lips as she turned to face her sister, "Told you, didn't I?"

"That was _so_ _**cool**_! You have _got_ to teach me how to do that!"

"'Course I will! What are younger sisters for?"

Rose caught the shred of playful antagonism in the tone and moved over to her, "Hey, you want a slap, or what?"

"I'd take you down before you could even _try_!"

"Oh, you're sure about that?"

"_Try_ me!"

Rose launched herself at her, using her added height to throw her to the floor. Her hands grabbed her shoulders, pinning her down, "Give up?"

She laughed, "No."

Sparrow struggled and fought with all her might, squirming and wriggling, trying to get free.

Rose's eyes glinted, mischievously, "Give up?"

"_No_!"

She fought and fought and fought until she panted, completely and utterly exhausted.

"Give up?"

She gave up, "Fine! Fine, I give up!"

"Mercy mercy?"

"Mercy mercy."

"Mercy mercy uncle Percy?"

"Aw, whatever, get off of me!"

The eldest got to her feet, laughing, and held out a hand to drag the younger to her feet, "Feel like some real fighting?"

Her sword was drawn, cutting and squishing through beetles. Sparrow looked around her, hazily. What the hell...? A beetle near her clonked her legs with its head and she wheeled round, slicing down on it, automatically. She swung again, crushing another huge bug, and for a moment her wooden sword glinted, swishing through the air like metal, hacking rather than crushing.

She killed the last one and stayed still for a moment, her little heart pounding in her chest. She could feel something. Something in her heart, in her stomach. Something she had never felt before. She didn't like it. The feeling squirmed and wriggled inside her chest, like fear, like real, _real __**fear**_. She hesitated, looking down at the very wooden sword in her hand, frowning, her body shaking slightly.

"Sparrow?"

She glanced up. Rose was beside her, looking her up and down, "You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm... I'm fine."

"No you're not. You're tired! It's been a long day, you're just tired. C'mon, let's get you to bed."

Sparrow frowned. Surely they'd only been outside a few hours? She glanced at the sky, noticing it suddenly to be quite dark. She yawned, surprising herself, realising she really _was_ tired after all. Avo, the day had gone by so _quickly_!

Rose shook her head, looking at her, critically, "_Look_ at you, you're _exhausted_! C'mon, then. Let's go to bed."

Sparrow was in bed. She frowned. She sat up. A single candle on the chest of drawers lit the room. Rose was above her, tucking her in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She turned back to her own bed and gave a long, tired yawn. Suddenly, Sparrow's weariness hit her again, and she rested her head back on the pillow, returning the yawn, snuggling down between the covers.

"Night, Sparrow."

"Night, Rose."

* * *

Music woke her. So soft, so soothing. She looked out her window, transfixed, standing on a toy box so she could reach. A soft, sweet, tinkling tune. So beautiful, so soft, so transfixing.

So familiar.

Rose had awoken, and, seeing her standing there, frozen, shook her head, yawning, sleepily, "It's nothing, little Sparrow. C'mon. Go back to sleep."

Sparrow didn't reply. She made no move.

Rose sighed, wearily, and then slid from her bed, moving over to put a firm hand on her shoulder, "C'mon. Just get back to bed. Pull your covers over your head, you won't hear it. C'mon. Mum and dad'll kill me if they find out you're up this late. Get back to bed."

She stayed still for a very long time, watching the still garden, the silent path, leading all the way to the gate. The gate that she had been forbidden from opening. The gate where, she was sure, the music was coming from.

Sparrow stayed, listening to the music. Then she shook her head, "Okay." She said, finally, taking one last glance out the window before retreating, reluctantly.

She got back into bed, pulling the covers over her, relishing their warmth. She hesitated again, and then shook her head, resting back down onto the pillow, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Corpses covered the Twisted Spire's floor. Blood streamed along black, tiled surfaces. Still dying collars sparked, gently, giving their last beats.

The screams of the wounded and the dying had long since ceased, and a glow pulsed through the obsidian rock, radiating up towards the peak, the core, the whole structure shivering.

Where once the only noise was the sharp orders of the guards, now was the thrum of the Old Kingdom building, amplified, cogs and wheels turning, and a roar, one, dull roar, the Twisted Spire's heartbeat, the living organism, readying itself for the sole purpose it had been created for millennia ago, all energy pushing towards the focal point, the place where one person would soon stand, ready to receive their one desire.

The Spire had awoken.

* * *

"Come on, little Sparrow! Wake up!"

Awake again. God, it seemed like only seconds since she had put down her head. Sparrow responded with a low groan, turning onto her side.

"Well, c'mon, then, lazy bones! Get up!"

Sparrow looked up, "Aww, Rose, _seriously_..."

Rose laughed, "_No_! Get your butt out of bed! _Now_!"

She rolled over again, and, reluctance burning through her, dragged her legs over the side.

"C'mon, get a move on! Wait 'til you find out what we're doing today! We've got the whole place to ourselves!"

"What, mum and dad still not back yet?"

"_Listen_, dumbo! I _said_ we've got the whole place to ourselves, didn't I?"

She frowned, "But... they were out yesterday."

She shook her head, incredulously, "What are you talking about? C'mon! They won't be back for _aaages_! I have got... _such_ a day planned! Come on, let's go!"

Sparrow looked at her for a moment. She was now... _thoroughly_ confused.

"Well, come on, then! Move it!"

She jumped up, quickly, instinctively obeying her sister's command. Maybe this would make sense later, after she'd had a bit to wake up.

Sparrow glanced down. The apple Rose had thrown at her was lodged securely in her hand. Unease stirred inside of her. She glanced up again. Rose was laughing, "Aww, lucky catch! Come on, then! See if you can beat _that_!"

She hesitated. Then, frowning all the way, threw the apple back at her.

Rose reached up to catch it but it slipped through her fingers, knocking her hard on the shoulder, "_Ow_! Okay, okay, you win, you win, already!" Rose laughed, shaking her head. Sparrow just stared at her. Her sister shook her head again and moved forwards, taking her by the wrist, "Have you been practising when I haven't been looking? You've gotten so much better!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I... I guess I have."

Rose grinned, "You'll be fighting in the _Crucible_ before long."

The Crucible.

_That was somethin' else! Best Crucible in __**years**__!_

Sparrow shook her head, firmly. She felt... weird. Different. Everything was flooding through her, she could feel the world spinning, and her head felt light, dizzy.

"Sparrow? You alright?"

She managed to drag herself down to the world, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... fine."

"Great. So. Feel like some _real_ fighting?"

Slash out, blood spraying across her face, her sword cutting through flesh and bone, lightning burning along its metal blade, _Blade_. Flesh made horrific, terrifying noises as the sword hacked through people, the light leaving their eyes, screaming, they were _screaming_, and it was more than she could bear, more than she could handle, it was _killing_ her. Her heart pounded and tears streamed down Sparrow's face, and she fell to the floor, sobbing into her hands.

"Sparrow! Sparrow, you alright?"

_Jaina! Jaina, honey, are you okay?_

There was a hand on her arm and Rose was looking down on her, alarmed, "Sparrow? What's wrong, did one get you?"

Sparrow looked through blurry eyes at the floor around her. It was covered by dead beetles. She looked down at her hand. Her fingers were wrapped around the hilt of a small wooden sword.

She looked back up, "No. No, I'm... fine."

"No you're not. You're -"

"Tired." She completed, quickly, shaking her head. She hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head again, "I'm just tired. That's all. It's... it's been a long day. I'm just tired."

"C'mon, let's get you to bed. _Look_ at you, you're _exhausted_! C'mon, then. Let's go to bed."

No sooner had the word left her mouth was she tucking her in. She kissed her forehead, gently, and then turned her back, yawning, "Night, Sparrow."

Sparrow paused for a long time. "Goodnight, Rose."

_Goodnight, Jaina._

* * *

The light clunk of footsteps joined the Spire's thrum. The only living sound. They were slow, thoughtful, but somehow passionate, filled with a deep, powerful energy, a desire, a _need_.

The feet stepped over the blood-splattered floor, radiating distaste. But they didn't stop. They didn't hesitate. They were sure. _So_ sure. They knew sacrifices had to be made for the beauty of paradise. They knew what needed be done. And they knew they were the ones to do it.

Not long now.

* * *

Sparrow was standing at the window again. The music. The music... box. She was dizzy, light-headed, but she'd never felt so alive. So cautious.

"It's nothing, little Sparrow. C'mon. Go back to sleep."

She ignored her, deftly, barely raising an eyebrow. She heard the sigh, felt the hand on her shoulder, "C'mon. Just get back to bed. Pull your covers over your head, you won't hear it. C'mon. Mum and dad'll kill me if they find out you're up this late. Get back to bed."

The _music box_...

A gunshot - _bang!_ - another, back through the window - _smash!_ - silence.

_No, __**wait**__! Don't! __**NO**__!_

The box is of no importance, what _is_ is that you managed to _use_ it.

The hand tugged, "Sparrow! Come on! _Bed_!"

The gate. The gate that she had been forbidden from opening. The gate to the outside. To the road, to the dangers outside.

Sparrow stayed, listening to the music, intently. She turned, catching her older sister's wearily frustrated face. Then she shook her head, "I'm sorry."

Run, Jaina. _Run_.

"_Where are you going_?"

She ignored her, running down the stairs, out the door.

"Are you _mad_? It's _dangerous_ out there! Stop!"

_I love you. You're my __**wife**__, Jaina, and I __**love**__ you. And you love me._

Sparrow ignored her, her heart throbbing painfully in her chest. Time flashed again and within seconds she was at the gate, using all of her strength to yank at the hatch.

Rose's voice had changed from anger to blind panic: "No. Stop. Please, don't... don't leave me. _Please_, Sparrow!"

She dragged the gate open. Rose was standing still a few meters from her, tears streaming down her face, shaking her head, slowly, "No. Sparrow, _please_! _Don't_! Don't leave me! SPARROW!"

Sparrow looked back at her for a second. Then she shook her head, and darted through the gate.

_RUN!_

"No, _wait_! Don't! _NO_!"

A gunshot boomed through the air around her and Sparrow immediately spun on her heel, "_ROSE_!"

The path around her had changed, bodies littered the streets, slashed corpses, decapitated, stung up by their hands, blood pouring down the road. She spun, terrified, and was greeted by a hacked apart corpse, blood squirting from an arterial wound, covering her face, the flesh around the face broken back and caved in places, leaving a horrific mess of red and white gunk, reminding her overpoweringly of dead worms and maggots.

Sparrow turned her back and retched onto the blood-covered floor. Fires burned around her, turning the whole road a terrifying, dull red. Before her, where mere seconds ago had been the gate and the house, there was nothing but a dark, black, swirling fog, a plume of thick, heavy smoke.

Sparrow darted forwards, "Rose! No, _Rose_! _**ROSE**_!" she stayed still, panting, eyes locked on the gate, tears pouring hotly down her face. She took half a step back. Then she shook her head, "I'm sorry."

Little Sparrow turned on her heel, and started running.


	24. The Hero

**The Hero**

The agony Hammer felt racketing through her head was in an intensity and form she had never felt before. She felt her strength waning, her power being leeched away, and something else, like a pull on her mind, dragging at her willpower, crushing it.

_Avo. Skorm. Light, Darkness. Whatever there is in this hell of a world. Just kill me._

A fresh shot of pain smashed through her systems, but she was now too weary to let out anything but a strangled moan. Light flooded her eyes and her head and she couldn't see, couldn't feel, couldn't _think_. All was pain, all was leeching, this was all that existed.

_Kill me. Kill me. __**Kill me**__._

She was no longer aware of the constant stream of tears burning her face. She was weary. Please. Let her be dying. Let this be the end of it. Let it stop. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take any more. A world of pain and darkness and death, just kill me. _KILL ME!_

The Spire didn't hear her wish. No comfort came to her, no words like some stupid spell alleviated her. Instead, what echoed around the black halls was something none of them had been expecting: "Let them go, Lucien."

* * *

Blade watched blankly as the thing before her looked up, locked his glowing yellow eyes onto hers.

He paused, then gave a small, twisted smile, "Your power is _astounding_! _Twice_ you've cheated death!"

"Sometimes I think I _can't_ die." She said, slowly, her voice hoarse, "Not even _oblivion_ wants me."

He gave a low, dark laugh, "Well then maybe you are correct. But your abilities are trivial compared to the infinite power of the Spire... which will soon be mine." He paused, and then, when he spoke again, his voice was laced with the same power that had commanded her during her ten years of hell, "Now. _Sleep_."

His power pricked inside her head. Even without the collar he still had the majesty of the Spire on his side. Blade looked down at the floor, feeling nothing, just emptiness. Then she looked up, and slid the music box from her pocket.

Lucien's eyes locked onto it, immediately, "What is that."

She turned the key, silently, hearing the familiar crank of the clockwork as the gears slid into place. Then she paused, looking up at him, and let it play.

The soft tune filled the entire room, whispering around the dome they were standing in, so soft, so gentle, but powerful, powerful enough to leave shivers racketing through her body, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

Fairfax's anger grew, "_What are you doing_?" the shield around him flickered, and she saw the same happening to the streams of light that linked them together, her friends and her enemy of her enemy, all linked, the Three Heroes.

The old man's laugh was a stained, contemptuous bark, "Do you think a mere _trinket_ will save you? Do you think _anything_ can?"

One of the beams fell - Hammer's - and, just as her sister's had done back at that gate, his voice fell into panic: "Stop. Think about what you're doing. I will bring an end to chaos!"

Another beam down, Garth's. Reaver's began to flicker.

Lucien powered himself again, returning to anger: "Stop now, you fool! You _insect_! I order you to stop!" the pirate's beam failed, and the shield protecting Lucien started fading, "Sleep! I _command_ you to sleep, _SLEEP_!"

A burst of bright white light burned through her retinas, and Blade flinched back, covering her eyes with her arm. There was a small, strangled groan. Then silence.

* * *

Blade lowered her arm, opened her eyes. Everything was silent. Lucien was standing before her. Glaring at her. Just a man.

She flicked the music box shut, slowly. She put it back into her pocket. Then she transferred her attention back to him.

He was weak. But angry. He shook his head, slowly, "Why. Why must you _interfere_."

"If you have to ask that question," she said, softly, "Then you will never truly know."

Her right hand took hold of her left and, slowly, she pushed up her sleeve, baring the thin, white scars.

_Rose_.

His eyes locked onto them. Then back to hers.

Blade nodded, "That's all this is about, Lucien. That's all this was _ever_ about." She waited a beat. She could feel a familiar emotion stirring inside her, and knew he only had to say one wrong word to bring it out of her. But it was just a stirring. The power hadn't come through yet. "You killed my sister." She stated, looking at him, "You killed my sister. You killed my husband, my children, my Boy. You killed everyone I ever loved. You destroyed them."

He spoke through gritted teeth: "It was necessary."

"_Necessary_?" and here it came, all the anger, all the hate, the pain of a thousand lifetimes, "Who are _you_ to decide who should and shouldn't die? You are no God, Lucien, you are just man! Just human! Twisted, bitter, a _monstrosity_ of what you set out to prove!" she looked at him for a moment, and then shook her head, disgustedly, "You never did see the irony of it all, did you, Fairfax. We were _street urchins_! _Orphans_! Homeless, lifeless _orphans_! If you hadn't brought us before you we would have never known! We would have probably died on the street during the next cold! We wouldn't have survived more than a few more winters!"

"And what if you had," he asked, sharply, "What if you had survived. What should I have done."

"You should have _killed_ me! You should have gone out into the streets and _finished the job_! I SHOULD HAVE _**DIED**_!" her voice echoed around the silent hall. She took in a slow, deep breath. Then she looked at him again, "But you left it half done, didn't you. You were young, you were distraught, it was your first kill, two innocent little girls, I don't CARE about the reason! The _result_ was _this_! _You_ caused this! You brought this on yourself!" Jaina turned her back, breathing heavily. Anger burned inside of her, and it was taking everything she had to keep herself stable.

"Why did you kill him."

He paused. "Kill who."

"My Michael. Why did you kill him. That's what I wanna know. He didn't have a Hero's blood. He was _nothing_ to you. But you killed him anyway. You... _murdered_ him in cold blood, like you murdered my sister, like you murdered my children."

"Listen to me. Your husband -"

Blade exploded, turning on him, "_HIS NAME WAS __**MICHAEL**__! _And I _LOVED_ him, do you understand? You _know_ what that feels like, to see all you loved _ripped_ from you, and yet you continued to do it do others, you continued on to force _others_ to feel the pain that _you __**yourself**_ cannot bear!"

"What are you fighting to protect?" he asked, angrily, "The world that robs us of what we love most? Is _that_ what you think is worth _preserving_?" he paused a moment, and then shook his head, "Such a cold world does not deserve its own existence."

"You returned coldness with coldness! Cruelty with cruelty! You became what you loathed! _Worse_ than that, you became the _cause_ of what you loathed! You became the cause of chaos! The cause of death, of pain, of _suffering_!"

"What does it matter to you? Why do you care why I did what I did?"

"I don't. None of that matters." She paused, looking at him, and then pulled out her pistol, her hands moving automatically into a firm grip, "All that matters is this."

* * *

Jaina looked at him, her heart pounding, her breathing uncontrollable.

_Kill him. Do it. __**Kill him**__._

But her finger stayed frozen on the trigger. She listened to the pump of her heart as she looked into the man's eyes, the man she had developed an absolute hatred for in one single second, the man who she had sworn right from that day she would find and kill, the man who killed every single person she had ever loved. She hated him. She _hated him_.

But there was a voice. There was a voice in her head. Talking to her. _Pleading_ with her.

Don't... do it.

She frowned. Why? Why not kill him? It was the least he deserved. He deserved this fate five times over. Once for Boy, once for Michael, once each for Rose Marie and Mattie. And once for Rose.

"_Lucien laughs every night as he remembers that time in his study. He still keeps the gun with which he shot you and your sister. A __**souvenir**__."_

No. No, he was _penitent_. Do you remember? His voice, the quake in it...

"_I cannot allow __**you**__ to live, either. I'm sorry."_

But no. That was then. He was young, he was unsure. Rose was his first kill, a young street urchin.

_He butchered your family. Michael, Rose Marie, Mattie. This man killed everyone you ever loved. He __**boasted**__ about it. Had he need to tell you the details of what he had done - __**no**__. He was just torturing you. Playing with the mouse before killing it._

Anger took its place. He _boasted_ about it. He wanted to look into her face and see her pain, know that she was crushed, break her, like Reaver, like the Commandant, break her into a thousand million pieces. And then put a bullet in her heart.

_No_. He wanted _perfection_. And his ideas were screwed. He _was wrong_, there's no doubt about _that_. But... can you truly call him evil?

Rose called out to her. She screamed. She pleaded with her murderer before he pulled the trigger, just a child...

_Pull the trigger, Sparrow. One little pull. Then it'll all be over. Kill him. __**Kill**__ him._

She tightened her grip on the weapon, fiercely, and pushed it out again.

_PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER!_

But she couldn't. Her body wouldn't obey. It just stood there. Frozen.

"_**Brave**__? Brave is being able to __**not**__ pull the trigger. Brave is taking into account not just __**your**__ limits but also the limits of the person in front of you. Why kill when you don't have to."_

Her own words. To Roxa, all those weeks ago. That stupid, trumped-up, foolish little whore, who _worshiped_ Reaver and his ways, who _adored_ him. Who saved her life when she lay bleeding, dying, a banshee's taunts circling around her head.

Why kill when you don't have to. Why. For revenge? Riches? Would she become like the pirate? Would she take Hannah's path, strike down the man who had robbed her of everything in one peak of anger, later to regret every life she had ever taken? Or would she turn into Lucien, this broken man standing in front of her. Would she kill him to _make the world a better place_. A place... unrecognisable... in its perfection...

No. No, she couldn't do it. She couldn't do it.

She fell to her knees, her pistol still held out, tears steaming hotly down her face. She shook her head, and let her forehead touch the cool, throbbing floor, the Spire. How many tears had she shed on this floor? How many times had she forced herself to be silent as the officers tortured her, mocked her, toyed with her.

How many people here had Lucien killed.

He had taken her Rose. He had taken _ten years_. He had taken her Boy, her only childhood comfort on the cold, dark nights. He had taken her family, her husband, her Michael, _God_, her Michael, her beloved daughter, her precious, precious son. He had taken her _life_. But she could not take his. She couldn't.

Oh, Avo, Rose. Rose, Michael, Mattie, Rose Marie. I'm so sorry.

A shot echoed through the air.

* * *

Blade's heart stopped. She jerked her head up. Lucien's eyes widened in surprise, and his hand fell on the blossoming pool of blood draining through his shirt, just below his left shoulder. He staggered back a step, teetering near to the edge of the platform.

Blade rushed towards him, "_No_!"

He fell. She shuddered to a stop just before falling herself, and peered carefully down. Fairfax's body lay on the floor around twenty or thirty feet below him, his head cocked at a grotesque angle. Dead.

Blade stumbled back a step. She still held her pistol loosely in one hand. She was frozen to the spot, and she didn't seem to need to breathe.

"Oh, I thought he'd _never_ shut up." She jerked her head round to the voice. Reaver stood on his platform, blowing a puff of smoke away from the barrel of his Dragonstomper. He caught her gaze, and gave a small, knowing smirk, feigning ignorance, "Sorry, did _you_ want to kill him?"

She just looked at him, numbly. Then she shook her head. She hesitated, and then took a step towards him.

"You... you killed him."

The words hadn't come from her. She turned slightly, facing Hannah, who was switching her gaze from Reaver to Blade and back again. "Lucien's... _dead_. But, then... what happens now?"

"Now?"

Blade spun round at this voice, "_Theresa_!" her voice was a strangled croak.

Theresa gave a small, sad smile, "Now it is time you gained your reward. Your gift for saving the world from a madman's selfish dream."

She shook her head, giving a small, hollow laugh, "I don't want anything."

Theresa cocked her head slightly to one side, "You are so sure?" there was a long silence, and then she shook her head, "The Spire has awakened. And it still has the power to grant one wish. _Yours_. Come. Take my hand."

Jaina hesitated. She looked at her, her old mentor, her teacher, her parent, her _friend_, her instincts pumping in the back of her neck.

"_Where is she?"  
_"_Your fortune-telling friend?"  
_"_What have you __**done **__to her?"  
_"_I merely __**listened**__."_

She shook her head, slowly.

It's alright, little Sparrow. Don't be afraid.

_That's what you said before, Rose._ She thought, her heart fluttering, _And look what happened there._

She was met only by silence. Sparrow stayed still for a very long time. Then she took her hand.


	25. Vengeance or Riches

**Vengeance or Riches**

Blade looked around her, slowly. She would have been surprised if she could feel anything other than numbness. They were in the Bower Lake gypsy camp, sitting on the small wooden logs as they had done so often all those years ago. In front of her was the table Theresa used for readings, where she would spend hours at a time consulting her cards, predicting the future. There was a deck of cards on it, face down.

Theresa lifted her head, "This surrounding is something from your own memories. Your physical form is still in the Spire. You stand in its centre, as the Archon of the Old Kingdom did thousands of years ago." She took the deck, shuffling it, deftly, "Now it is your turn. Make a wish. But choose wisely, for it will affect all of Albion."

She laid out a card, one with a picture of a silhouette, holding out an open hand, "Sacrifice. You may choose to revive all those who died in the Spire's making. It is a selfless gift. Your only reward will be the gratitude of Albion."

Another card was laid down, this one showing a chest of gold, "Wealth. More gold than you can imagine, to spend on whatever pleases you. But think on this - who will witness your new found affluence?"

"And, lastly, love. Those dearest to you, your family, your husband, your children -" Blade's heart jumped in her chest, "- even your faithful dog, will be restored to life. But their lives come at the cost of the countless innocents who died building the Spire."

She pushed the cards towards her side of the table, blind eyes fixed on the floor, "What will you choose."

Blade looked at the fate cards. After a few seconds, she picked up the picture of the treasure chest and slid it back into the deck. No reason even _considering_ that one. That just wasn't who she was.

Sacrifice or Love. Many or few. The choice she had been destined to make since she became a Hero... or the choice her heart longed for her to pick. Michael. Mattie. Rose Marie. Boy. All of them back, all of them living. She felt their absence like a nail rammed through her soul, a gnawing, open wound. She _needed_ them.

She had to. She couldn't live without them, they were all she had. Her hand moved, slowly, going towards the card with the heart.

_No._

* * *

She stopped in her place, frozen. She hesitated, and then tried to move again.

_I said __**no**__, Jaina._

Blade paused for a moment, "_Michael_?"

_You know it, honey._

Blade's eyes stayed on the card. Her heart pumped. She shook her head, slowly, "This... this is as corny as hell, Michael, you know that?"

She could hear his laugh, _Yep. Sorry about that._

"I have to. Michael, I... I _have_ to."

_No you don't. All those people, Jaina, don't, __**please**__. You have to let us go. We're dead._

She argued with the voice in her head, "But I could _change_ that!"

_But you __**won't**__. I won't __**let**__ you. I don't __**want**__ this. I couldn't stand living knowing I had taken the place of thousands, you __**know**__ that._

There was a long pause. Her eyes didn't leave the cards.

_Jaina?_

"Yes?"

He hesitated. _I __**love**__ you. But some things... some things are more important than that._ There was no-one there, there was nothing, this was all in her head, but, despite that, she felt his hand brush over hers. _Save them, Jaina. Save them._

Jaina looked at the cards, completely and utterly emotionless. "I love you."

_I know._

Her hand reached out. She paused. Then she picked up the card.

"Sacrifice." her voice was nothing more than a husky, dead whisper.

Theresa nodded, slowly, "So be it."

Light spun. Brightened. Sound collapsed, for a moment there was nothing.

Theresa gave a small, sad smile, "All those that have lost family and friends in the Spire have had their loved ones returned to them - confused, but unharmed. Soon all Albion will be filled with gratitude, and praise the name of this great and selfless Hero forever, and they will know what you gave up for their sake."

Jaina looked at her. "I don't care."

* * *

They were back in the Spire. Hammer was looking at her, the look of pity and pain on her face almost unbearable, "We heard everything."

"Yes." Theresa said, heavily, "A wish was made, and the world will bear its consequences."

The young Hero shook her head, "When... when my father died, it was awful. I can hardly bare _thinking_ about it. To sacrifice him myself... No. It took _amazing_ strength for you to do that. More strength than _I'll_ ever have."

Jaina just looked at her, numbly. _I don't care_.

The four started talking - Reaver, Garth, Hammer, Theresa - talking about something she knew she should care about. She couldn't bring up the energy. Samarkand. Garth was going back to Samarkand. As was Reaver. Reaver? Reaver wanted to go Samarkand? Why would he...

Oh yes. Of course. Blade looked at him, feeling her heart being to move in her chest. His uncouth remark seemed to be the only thing that could make a tiny splinter in her shell.

She looked at him, anger flaring inside of her, gently, building slowly, eyes fixed on him.

"Hammer?"

"No. I'm done." She turned to her, and Jaina forced herself to listen, "I know why we got attacked in the cave, the day we met. You brought those Hollow Men in with you. Two monks would have found nothing, but a warrior finds battle - _always_. I want to go north. Study with those warrior monks. I was so sick of avoiding violence. Now I'm sick of _causing_ it."

Jaina listened to her friend pour her heart out, silently.

Then, as usual, Reaver took a step forwards, "My dear, you should never be sick of causing violence! It's good for the blood!"

Slowly, Blade turned her gaze onto him. Anger and disgust burned through her, quick and hot, like a bolt of lightning. She relished it. Anything but the numbness.

He caught her eyes, and smirked, slowly, "I'm sorry, should I have held my tongue? Oh, and, my dear, I should tell you, I do have to make the occasional sojourn back to Albion. I have an _obligation_ to some friends in Wraithmarsh. Maybe we'll see each other again. And then..." he paused, and then smirked, his eyes moving over her, "...maybe we'll start up from where we left off. Nice seeing you, _Sparrow_."

He shimmered away, and Blade brought up her pistol, putting a bullet into the place where his head used to be, a second too late. She cursed under her breath, half-heartedly. There'd be another time. That she knew.

She turned to Garth, who gave a small, lopsided smile, "I had some doubts about you at first, but I'm glad we met. And we shall meet again - you can count on it."

He disappeared, and she was left looking at the last Hero.

Hammer straightened herself up, making an effort to look casual, "So. Think you can handle Albion on your own? I... need to get away from here for a while. Do some thinking, for a change... Not like I'm leaving much behind." Then she changed her mind, "Well... maybe _one_ thing. About the greatest friend I've ever had? But... it's time to say goodbye." She paused a beat, and then shook her head, "Take care of yourself."

And she was gone, just like that.

Blade looked at Theresa. All she had left. The woman gave a small, crooked smile, "And now... now it is time for you to leave. The world is yours to enjoy. But the _Spire_... is mine. Begone."

* * *

Jaina woke up on the small dock in Oakfield. She looked around her. It was the same dock. The dock she had arrived at after that last time in the Spire. Those ten years of hell. She looked around her. Even now her surroundings looked wrong. So much had changed. Everything was...

Jaina looked up at the Spire. A tingle went through her, a thrum. She felt... nothing. No anger, no hatred, no fear... nothing. She paused for a moment, listening to the silence. Then she shook her head, "I love you."

There was nothing. Not a sound.

She paused for a moment. She nodded, slowly. Then she turned, and walked away.


	26. Epilogue: And So Our Story Ends

**Epilogue: And So Our Story Ends**

It had been three months since the Spire. Three months since Lucien Fairfax had slaughtered her family and burned down their home. Three months since she had cheated death yet again, and followed him, yet again. Three months since she had made her choice.

Three months, she had found, did not serve as ample time to heal. But it did serve as ample time to think. And think she had.

She had to leave Bowerstone. She couldn't stand their courtesy anymore, couldn't stand their almost _fearful_ stares, couldn't stand their pity. When she walked into a shop all conversation stopped. When she walked into a bar all gazes turned to her, quickly, before flickering back down to their drinks. Any polite conversations she managed to start up always ended up in awkward silences, or with a gentle question of 'and how are you holding up?'.

She was sick of their concern. She knew it was with the best of intentions, but even so it cut through her like a knife, like a blade. She couldn't stand them constantly reminding her of what she had lost. As if she didn't dwell on her choice enough anyway.

A few days ago, a child had approached her in the square, asked her about a quest she barely remembered doing, and, for the first time in what seemed like years, she had smiled. Then the boy's mother ushered him away, shooting her an apologetic, reverent look, and Blade fell back into numbness.

She had to leave Bowerstone. She had to get out of this place, with all their worries for her, their concern, their... _gratitude_ at her choice, that choice in the Spire, they were _so_ grateful. She had to go somewhere that no-one would care. She had to go somewhere heartless. She had to go somewhere _soulless_.

* * *

She had stayed for a few weeks at The Cow and Corset - courtesy of the local town guards - and then they had found her a house she could live in a few streets away from Lookout Way. She'd gone to see it, of course. Everything... everything was gone. The house they had shared was a blackened, twisted, burned-out wreck.

She'd stood in the rubble, silently. Her eyes should have filled when they picked out the burned, tattered remains of clothing, the charred remnants of Rose Marie's teddy bear, the leftovers of Mattie's big black school bag. They didn't. She stayed, motionless, feeling the sun set and disappear behind the town's horizon, until it was too dark to see anything anymore.

All that remained of her husband was the old blade, the one from his fighting days, that the guards had managed to salvage from the wreckage, and an empty grave in Bowerstone Cemetery with a marker she had made herself.

Michael's last legacy.

Jaina touched her hand to her stomach, feeling the small bulge, running it down, gently. Well. Not quite.


	27. x Author's Note x

**_x Author's Note x_**

Hello from **Vayluh**! And **Jaina**, though, of course, it would be weird to say hello from a fictional character. (FICTIONAL?! NOO! Ruin all our hopes and dreams!!)

Yeah, sorry about that, I'm really really tired at the moment.

So - back to the point. I'd love to hear what you think, and, as always, **a comment is a comment** - go on and tell me it sucked! Do it! I just love having reviews! :)

'**A Pirate and a Hero'** was inspired by my complete love of **Reaver** - that guy's so kickass. Oh, btw, Lionhead? Reaver better be in Fable II. I'm telling you that now. He BETTER!

And, for the people who are thinking it - and I hope you are! - yes, **I am going to do another sequel**. Yes, I've already decided, plans are in motion, sketches are being made, and story plans are being painstakingly made up on the spot :P And, yes, I know it might be cliché... but I'm thinking a Reaver-returns fic. Yes, I know, CORNY, woman, what are you doing?! But, I think a clichéd storyline is okay so long as the storyline is unique and good. Which I'm... hoping it will be :D

* * *

**Anyhoo... thanks to:**

*** Fable II** - as usual, I love you - still waiting for III!

*** SeventhSanctum**

*** **The **Fable** **wikia**

*** Xcalizorz's Fable II** **videos**

*** Mark Billigham** - a writer who unknowingly helped me out when my chapters were going through those 'you'll-finish-me-but-I'm-going-kicking-and-screaming' phases :)

*** Reaver** - screw the wedding ring, I'll relax with you any day, love ;)

And, as always, **you** - couldn't have done it without you :)

* * *

**Love and kisses,**

**VArwen**


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